


The Godmother

by zathara001



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-10 00:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19896682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zathara001/pseuds/zathara001
Summary: When Hetty's godson disappeared, she set wards at magical schools across Europe to alert her of his reappearance. Now the wards at Hogwarts have notified her of his location, and she, with Nell and Callen's help, will find out what happened all those years ago and bring her godson home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Crossovers are, by definition, AU. This one takes place during season 2 of NCIS: Los Angeles and during Harry's first year at Hogwarts. Purely for my convenience, I've moved the events of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone forward in time to make them contemporaneous with season 2.
> 
> I'm following Harry Potter and the Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone book canon almost exclusively, with brief forays into non-book sources (i.e., the movies, Pottermore, fandom tropes, etc.). Basically, if it's not in that book, it doesn't exist unless it shows up in this story.
> 
> As always, all rights in this work are hereby given to the respective copyright owners of NCIS: Los Angeles and Harry Potter and the Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone.

As usual, G Callen was the last to leave the bullpen at the NCIS Office of Special Projects, and the reports he had to complete as a lead agent were only a part of the reason for that. A lack of anyone waiting for him at home was a larger part of the reason he left so late, though he'd never admit it aloud.

On this Thursday evening, everything was properly in its place, and G smiled to himself as he turned for the exit, stopping in his tracks as he realized he wasn't alone. Hetty Lange, Operations Manager, sat at her desk, scowling at … well, nothing that he could see.

"Good night, Hetty," he said, and she visibly started. Whatever had her in a temper must be something big.

But she recovered almost instantly and looked up at him with an expression that was almost pleasant. "Mr. Callen, would you remain for a moment?"

"Sure." Although G knew better than to pry into any of Hetty's secrets, sometimes she shared them with him. Tonight might be one of those times.

He was only mildly surprised when she picked up the phone on her desk and dialed an internal extension.

"Ah, Ms. Jones," she said into the phone. "I'm glad you're still here. I will join you in a moment."

She hung up the phone and G merely gestured for her to precede him upstairs to the operations center.

Nell Jones wasn't alone in Ops, and Hetty cleared her throat to catch the attention of the handful of others who remained. "I believe the workday is over."

G hid his amusement as the remaining techs and analysts shut down their workstations with a speed suggesting they were being timed.

"Nell?" Eric Beale prompted when the analyst in question remained seated. He looked far too much like an eager puppy, G thought.

"I've asked Ms. Jones to remain," Hetty said, and that was all it took.

"Oh. Well, okay, then. Good night." Eric was gone before G could do more than wish him a good night.

Once the room was clear except for the three of them, Hetty said, "Ms. Jones, lock down the room, please."

Nell's eyebrows flew up, but she said nothing as she tapped a command into her computer. Seconds later, the secure doors slid into place and G felt a subtle hum of power thrum through the room as stronger-than-usual electronic security measures engaged.

Then Hetty turned to him. "Mr. Callen, secure the room, please."

G knew his own eyes widened at the order, but he turned and took three steps to a small stone embedded in the wall beside the door.

He drew his right index finger across his left palm, not even wincing at the hiss of pain that followed it. Blood welled and he pressed his palm to the stone.

" _Locus ab secure_ ," he said, and a wave of magical energy swept across the room. Hetty could have done the same - like him, she was Romani - Gypsy - and Romani magic was the hardest magic to overcome, but he was King of the Romani, and his magic was the hardest of all.

With a thought, he healed his hand and removed every trace of his blood before turning to face two of his favorite women.

"One might call that overkill," he observed.

"You should know that there is no such thing," Hetty told him, but he made no response because his attention was caught by Nell's expression.

"Something wrong, Nell?" G kept his question casual, despite what he believed was a solid working relationship between them.

"No," Nell said. "Not really. It's just - your magic feels … well, slippery."

"I'm Romani," G reminded her. It wasn't the entire truth, but it was as much as he was willing to admit to her. She'd been with NCIS a little under a year, and while he trusted her skills with a computer and a wand, he wasn't yet ready to trust her with the whole truth of his heritage.

Nell appeared to accept his explanation, though she was still frowning just a little when she turned to Hetty. "So what needs all of this secrecy?"

"Harry Potter."

G blew out a breath. "Oh."

Nell's expression turned confused. "Who?"

G looked to Hetty, and she nodded once, so he gave Nell the bare facts. "About ten years ago, Wizarding Britain had a sort of civil war. A misguided wizard calling himself Lord Voldemort and styling himself a dark lord set out to subjugate everyone who didn't acknowledge him their sovereign. He was defeated when he attacked the Potter family - James, Lily, and their fifteen-month-old son, Harry. James and Lily Potter died in that attack, and Voldemort was … well, some say killed, some say defeated. Whatever the case, he hasn't been seen since."

"And the baby? Harry?" Nell asked.

"Also not seen since that night, though by all reports, he not only survived but was instrumental in Voldemort's defeat," G said.

"More pertinently," Hetty said, "Lily was my goddaughter, and she asked me to be Harry's godmother as well."

"But - you said no one's seen him for ten years? How is that possible?" Nell asked.

"I'm not entirely certain," Hetty replied. "By the time I got to the Potters' house in Godric's Hollow, Harry was gone, and his godfather arrested for betraying the Potters to Voldemort. To make a very long story sufficiently short, I searched for Harry for a long time, to no avail."

"Knowing you," G said, "you did something else, too."

"I did," Hetty agreed. "I visited all the magical schools in Europe and put a notification spell on them all so that I would be notified if Harry attended any of them."

"Just Europe?" Nell asked. "Why not the US? Or anywhere else?"

"Wizarding Britain tends to be insular," Hetty replied. "The likelihood that they would have hidden the boy many believe to be their savior outside of Britain was vanishingly small. I added the notifications to the other schools in an abundance of caution."

"Because there's no such thing as overkill," G said with a small smile. Then, "I assume he's tripped one of your notifications?"

"He has," Hetty agreed. "He's attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland."

Nell immediately turned to her computer.

"No, Ms. Jones," Hetty said. "I know all about the school. James and Lily attended it, you see. I taught there, briefly, as well."

"So - what do you need us for?" Nell sounded even more confused than she looked, but G got it immediately.

"Search and rescue," he said. "Or maybe just the wrath of Hetty?" Though there was nothing _just_ about Hetty's wrath when it was unleashed.

"Why not both?" Hetty smiled a predator's smile. "Specifically, I intend to rain hellfire and brimstone down on those who stole him from his rightful guardians, and then see to it that he is well taken care of."

"How can I help?" G asked. Nell echoed the question only half a second later.

"It is a lot to ask of you," Hetty said, "even though you are my magical heir -" she nodded at G - "and my adoptive heir -" she nodded at Nell.

"Hetty," G began, barely glancing at Nell to confirm her agreement, "we're looking at kidnapping of a minor child, at the very least. Of course we'll help."

"I appreciate your willingness to help, but before you go any further, you should be aware of the worst that might be asked of you."

"Shoot," Nell said.

"In the worst case, I could be denied custody of Harry because of my age," Hetty said. "In that event, I would petition that custody be given to the two of you as my heirs. You would, in effect, become Harry's step-parents."

"I can't speak for Nell," G said, "but I'll do it."

"I - well." Nell blew out a breath. "I can't say I wanted children just yet, but it sounds like this kid's been through it. If I can help, I will - even if it means getting a… how old is he now?"

"Eleven," Hetty said.

"Okay. Eleven. I can work with that." Nell still looked somewhat uncertain, and G couldn't blame her - he felt the same way. "What's the plan?"

"I'll face down the Wizengamot itself if I must, to see Harry safe," Hetty said. "But to do that, I'll need as much information as you can find. Search the mundane world as well as the wizarding world."

"On it," Nell said, and now she turned to her computers with a purpose.

"I'll reach out to my contacts in the ICW and the FBMI," G said.

"Thank you both," Hetty said, and G didn't think he'd ever heard her more sincere.

* | *

Almost two months later, they met in the ops center again, also under the strictest security measures. G was grateful they had time to thoroughly prep for the assignment, but at the same time, he wanted to rush off and save a child who might somehow be in danger.

Hopefully, this meeting meant that they were close to satisfying that urge.

"What have you found?" Hetty asked.

G gestured to Nell. "Ladies first."

"You were right that he was hidden in the mundane world," Nell began. "It took some searching, because searches for him didn't come back under his own name."

"How's that possible?" G asked.

"Some very impressive shielding spellwork," Nell told him gravely. "Whoever hid him wanted him to stay hidden."

"How did you find him?" Hetty asked.

"I did a family search," Nell said. "That led me to Lily's sister, Petunia, and her husband, Vernon Dursley."

Hetty's lips pinched into a frown. "And?"

"And when I started searching on Harry Dursley, I got a few hits," Nell said.

"Did these Dursley people adopt him?" G asked.

"I didn't find a record of it," Nell said.

"They wouldn't have adopted him," Hetty said. "Not without someone putting _great_ pressure on them. Lily's family was mundane - Petunia hated magic. Even if she were somehow to agree to raise Harry, she would never have adopted him."

"As I said, some impressive spellwork," Nell said. "In effect, the records were created under the name Harry Potter, but only turn up on searches for Harry Dursley. I'd really like to meet the person who designed that …" She shook her head. "Back on topic, Harry attended primary school and I found a record of his admission to a public secondary school, Stonewall High. Besides a birth certificate, and records of required immunizations, that's all I found."

"Bugger," Hetty muttered. "Mr. Callen?"

"My contacts at the ICW didn't have much to add," G said. "The ICW wasn't called in during or after the war, so the information they have is based on news reports published in the _Daily Prophet_ , and a few reports from hit wizards who were stationed there at the time. None of them seem to know what happened to Harry Potter after the night his parents were killed."

"Bugger," Hetty repeated, more forcefully.

"But," G continued, "that very fact set off alarms, and they reactivated my commission, specifically for the purpose of investigating Harry Potter's welfare."

"That could be useful," Hetty said.

"There aren't many situations where having a hit wizard at your back isn't useful," Nell observed.

"Sometimes having the skill but not the license is more useful," G countered. "But for this, I'll take the license."

"I also looked into child custody laws," Nell said. "As his godmother, and his mother's godmother before him, you have a strong claim for custody. Not as strong as a blood relative, but still pretty strong. Having Callen and me as backup will only make your claim more persuasive. So I prepared guardianship and adoption papers in all of our names. They'll still have to be officially approved by both countries, but all the preliminary steps are in place."

"Excellent work, Ms. Jones."

"What else can we do?" G asked.

"Having a stable home is also important," Nell said. "My apartment's only a one bedroom, so I'm looking for something bigger -"

"Use my house," G said. "Three bedrooms, two baths, a decent backyard."

"Are you sure?" Nell asked. "I mean - I know you value your privacy."

"A child's health and welfare is more important," G said. "Believe me - I would know."

Nell glanced between him and Hetty, then met his gaze again. "If you're sure?"

"I'm sure," G told her.

Nell's expression suggested she was still uncertain. "I've heard you don't have any furniture?"

"Why should I? I can conjure anything I need."

"Thus leaving a trail for any magical to follow."

G grinned at her. "Romani magic can't be traced. It's one reason we're hated so much."

Nell's uncertainty switched to surprised fascination. "It can't?"

"Mr. Callen is partly correct, Ms. Jones," Hetty said. "Only another Romani can trace Romani magic. And even that takes great skill."

"You might feel differently, and that's fine," G told Nell. "I'll keep my old bedroom - no furniture in there, please."

"Um - okay." Nell looked a little shell-shocked. "How will I know which one's yours?"

"My name's carved in the closet door," G said dryly, and she looked torn between laughing and crying. He turned to Hetty before Nell could decide which reaction she was going to indulge. "What else?"

"I'm going to Britain," Hetty said. "I want to have everything arranged, legally - including the approvals for guardianship - before I march into Hogwarts and find out what's happened to my godson."

"We don't know that anything's wrong," Nell pointed out. "He could be okay."

"If he is, then all is well," Hetty countered. "But if he's not, I don't want those old codgers in the Wizengamot to have a leg to stand on if they try to keep him from me."

"You're not going alone," G said.

"Of course not," Hetty said. "As Ms. Jones pointed out, having an ICW-trained and licensed hit wizard at my back is a good thing. Having said that, we'll travel separately. There are a few meetings I need to have where you won't be able to join me."

Nell's frown matched G's own as he asked, "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely certain," Hetty said. "While I do that, you can ask around magical London and Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade?" G repeated.

"Magical village near Hogwarts," Hetty told him. "Find out what the British wizarding community knows about Harry. And get us rooms at the Three Broomsticks."

Even before G acknowledged the instruction, Hetty was turning to Nell. "I'll give you an account to charge whatever you need to set up the house for Harry. Extravagance is not necessary, but neither is miserliness."

"Of course," Nell said, as though she knew exactly what Hetty meant. Then again - maybe she did. The two women seemed to understand each other almost instinctively despite their relatively brief acquaintance.

"Thank you again," Hetty said. "Mr. Callen, I will see you in Hogsmeade on Monday."

G knew a dismissal when he heard one, and it was the work of a moment to dispel the wards he'd set earlier.

He started to follow Hetty from the room, but Nell's quiet, "Callen?" held him back.

"What is it, Nell?"

"This - just all of this," she said. "I feel like I'm barging in on your life, and -"

"You're not," G assured her. "If you were, I wouldn't have offered my place. Besides, we don't even know for sure we'll need it yet."

"We will," Nell said. "No, I don't have the gift of divination, but sometimes, people in my family just _know_ things, and I _know_ we'll need your house - or _a_ house. So - I'm sorry."

"Nell." G rested both his hands on her shoulders, and she looked up at him. "I'm sure the others have told you stories - how I don't sleep much, and I do things like take toasters apart when I can't sleep."

"You do?" Nell looked surprised, but not unhappily so. "I clean out my closet."

G chuckled. "Sounds like a good fit." Then he sobered. "I should be apologizing to you, because I just decided that for you."

Nell studied him for a long moment. "How about we each accept the other's apology, otherwise we'll be here all night?"

"Deal." G smiled at her and started to leave again, stopping abruptly. "You need to come by so I can add you to the wards."

Nell blinked at him. "You have wards on your home?"

"You don't?" G countered.

"Well, no - I mean, the building has wards, but I didn't add any to my apartment."

"I'd suggest you do, but if you're moving to my place, you don't need to."

"Right." Nell blew out a breath, then met his gaze with a glimmer of amusement. "War wards?"

"Not nearly as lethal as Sam's."

"Oh, now you have to tell."

G chuckled. "For a first offense, my wards portkey the intruder to the La Brea Tar Pits. A first attempt against Sam's wards will get you portkeyed to ten feet above the ground somewhere in Zambia - minus a limb."

Nell stared at him in almost open-mouthed shock. "Good God."

"A second attempt on my wards, and you'll land somewhere near Mt. Aconcagua in the Andes - minus a limb. Second attempt on Sam's wards and third attempt on mine are lethal."

Nell shook her head. "And here I thought you were such nice, easy-going guys."

"We are," G agreed easily. "But if you try to invade our homes, all bets are off."


	2. Chapter 2

For all that a twelve-hour flight from Los Angeles to London would have given G plenty of time to review the information Nell would be sending him, G had to acknowledge that in this case, time was of the essence.

So he sighed deeply and before dawn headed to the Los Angeles branch of Gringotts, the wizarding bank. Goblin-made portkeys were much less nauseating than wizard-made ones - and besides, the goblins looked far more favorably on Romani than on other wizards.

He'd barely stepped inside the bank when he was taken directly to Gunborn, the branch manager. The goblin offered him a toothless smile.

"It is my pleasure to see the King of the Gypsies," Gunborn said. 

"It is my pleasure to see the best of the goblins," G countered, having long ago given up trying to get the goblins to use Romani instead of Gypsy, "and to wish you coffers that groan under the weight of the gold they hold."

"May your enemies cower before you," Gunborn returned. "How may I serve today?"

"I need discreet transportation to England," G said. "And, of course, some British magical currency."

"How disappointing," Gunborn said. "I had hoped for a goblin-led Gypsy rebellion."

"The most I would ever offer is a Romani-led goblin rebellion," G countered, as easily as he would have if he were talking with Sam on a stakeout.

"Coordinated rebellions it is, then." Gunborn smiled, and G laughed. "Come with me, Gypsy King."

G followed Gunborn to a private office, where he was offered refreshments while Gunborn left to take care of his requests.

Barely ten minutes later, Gunborn returned. He handed over a pouch which, when G opened it, proved to hold several hundred British coins - gold, silver, and copper.

"Galleons," G murmured. "Sickles. And -?" He looked up at Gunborn.

"Knuts," the goblin finished for him. "As to your other request, it happens that we have a transfer of employees to the London branch of Gringotts in an hour. You are welcome to join them. Of course, we will have to log your travel, but it is unlikely that anyone will ask to see our records."

"I couldn't ask for more discretion than that," G said. "My thanks, Gunborn."

"Griphook will meet you when you arrive," Gunborn said. "He'll answer any questions you have and assist you how he can."

"Again, my thanks," G said formally. It wasn't his preferred method of conversation, but he was very good undercover, and visiting the goblins was almost as dangerous as any undercover operation.

* | *

A little over an hour later, the world re-formed around G, and he fought down the nauseating sensation of international travel by portkey with an ease born of long practice. Around him, the goblins he'd traveled with dispersed until there were only two remaining in the room with him.

One was clearly the portkey attendant, as he logged the names of all the travelers and collected the used portkey. The other, who remained standing near the door, could only be …

"Griphook," G said. "May your blades never dull."

"May the Gypsy King stay hidden," Griphook returned. "This way, please."

G followed him to a private office, taking a seat facing Griphook where he sat at a desk.

"This arrived for you earlier." Griphook pulled a leather pouch from the desk and offered it to G.

G took it, recognizing the ICW logo on the seal as much as the protective spells on the pouch itself.

The pouch would only open with his verification, so he cut his palm with magic, allowing a single drop of his blood to land on the ICW seal.

"Revelare." 

The pouch opened, and G withdrew the ICW identification he'd never thought he'd use again. Along with the ID, there was a parchment also sealed with the ICW logo. A drop of blood activated the ID, and a second drop, along with a second murmured, "Revelare," opened the parchment seal.

G felt his eyebrows climbing as he read the parchment. "Well. I wasn't expecting that."

"Are you permitted to discuss the matter?" Griphook asked.

"I'm required to investigate the matter, and therefore must discuss it with certain parties," G said. He looked up to meet the goblin's shrewd gaze. "I understand that Harry Potter started at Hogwarts this term. Did he come to Gringotts at any time after the acceptance letters went out?"

"We goblins pride ourselves on our discretion," Griphook began, but G handed him the parchment.

"And the ICW respects your commitment to banking neutrality," G said. "However, this just became an official investigation, with which your cooperation is appreciated."

"Hmm," the goblin muttered as he read the parchment, though it sounded more like a growl. He handed the parchment back to G. "I appreciate that the ICW is looking into Mr. Potter's case. When he came in, he looked decidedly … unwell."

"How do you mean?"

"I believe you wizards would call him scrawny - small for his age, thin, bony."

"You saw him, then?"

"I took him to his vault," Griphook said.

"Who was with him?"

"Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts," came the immediate answer. "He accompanied Mr. Potter to his vault and helped Mr. Potter take some money from it."

"How much?" G asked - not because he thought the amount mattered, but because he didn't know whether it did.

"Hagrid said it should be enough for a couple of terms. I admit, since it was his family's personal vault rather than a standard withdrawal, I didn't keep an accurate count."

"This Hagrid - did he have the key to the vault?"

"He did." Griphook frowned. "Which, now that you mention it, does seem somewhat peculiar. Mr. Potter's guardian should have had it."

"Does the bank have a record of who his guardian is?" G asked.

"We should have," Griphook said. "Give me a moment."

Then he was out of the office, leaving G to read the ICW's investigation mandate more thoroughly. If the ICW were correct, Harry Potter had suffered a gross miscarriage of justice. G would be honored to correct that situation.

Griphook returned within a few minutes, a long parchment rolled up in his hand. "According to our records, his guardian is Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump."

"I understand Mr. Potter is a ward of court," G said. "But who is his guardian?"

"I'm not lying to you, wizard," Griphook snapped. "Dumbledore himself is the boy's guardian."

G sat back in his chair, drumming his fingers on his thigh as he examined possibilities. None of them were in any way good, but some were worse than others. Still, that Harry Potter's status should be a ward of court gave him a new direction for his investigation.

"Does the bank have a record of James and Lily Potter's attorney? Sorry - I think they're called solicitors on this side of the Pond."

Griphook consulted his parchment. "The last firm of record we have is Devereaux Herrington & Cooke." Then he scowled. "And it seems that a retainer of one hundred galleons per month continues to be paid to them from the Potter accounts."

"So either they have a necromancer on staff," G murmured, "or they have a lot to answer for. I'd like to see the guardianship paperwork, please."

"Certainly." Griphook left the room, and G wasn't sure how long he was gone, but when he returned, the goblin's expression promised vengeance of a most thorough and brutal kind.

"I regret that I cannot assist the ICW with the request for Mr. Potter's guardianship papers. There appear to be none in the bank."

G blew out a breath, the better to prevent himself from asking inappropriate questions that would make a volatile situation even worse. He searched for words that might ease the goblin's anger.

"The goblins are masters of banking and records," he said finally. "But mastery is not perfection, and expecting perfection is foolhardy."

"Striving for perfection is noble," Griphook shot back. "I gladly offer you my sword to better exact justice from those who have wronged a child."

"In place of your sword - for the moment - may I trouble you for a little more information?" G asked.

"Information is the least we will offer, if a child has been abused by the system that should have protected him." Griphook practically snarled the words. "Ask your questions."

"I'm not familiar with magical London," G said. "Where would Mr. Potter have gone to buy school supplies?"

"As though we would be welcome in wizarding shops," Griphook sniffed. "But I have heard many students speak of Madam Malkin's robe shop and Ollivander's wand shop. Mr. Potter may have gone to either of them."

"Thank you, Griphook." G rose. "May your wealth ever increase, and your thirst for blood always be slaked."

"May you always evade and confound the gadje."

* | *

Two hours later, G had left Diagon Alley for non-magical London and found himself a room in a hotel not far from Kensington Gardens. He opted for dinner from room service, and while he waited for it to be delivered, he checked the time in Los Angeles - mid-morning - and called Nell.

She answered immediately. "How's London?"

"Surprisingly sunny this afternoon," G answered. "At least it was in Diagon Alley - one of the magical enclaves. By the time I left there, it was dark."

"Not entirely what I meant." Nell sounded amused. "But it'll do for a start. How's London as it pertains to Harry Potter?"

"That's where things get interesting," G admitted. "The ICW not only re-activated my license, they authorized me to launch a full investigation into his circumstances."

Nell was quiet so long G checked his cell phone to be sure he hadn't lost the call.

"Oh-kay, then," Nell said finally. "What do you want me to do?"

"I'll send you my authorization and the case number," G said. "Coordinate with our Magical Child Protective Services and their British counterparts. I have a hunch that we're going to do more than confirm Harry's welfare."

"Okay. What else?"

"Look into a law firm over here - Devereaux, Herrington & Cooke. They're still getting a retainer from the Potter accounts, so I'd like to know what they've been doing for the Potters - any of them."

"On it. I'll send whatever I find to your phone."

"Thanks, Nell. How are things on your end?"

"I'm going shopping this afternoon, so your place will have furniture in it when you get back. Seriously, Callen - you sleep on the floor?"

"It's really good for your back. Also - Romani, remember? Why own more than you can carry with you - or conjure when you need it?"

"Fine, you can keep sleeping on the floor in your room," Nell said. "But I'm sure Harry will want a bed, maybe a desk to do his homework on, that kind of thing. And I will insist on a dining table."

G could only smile. "Have fun. Just - don't go overboard, okay?"

"I won't." Her tone was suddenly serious. "I realize this is imposing on you, and I won't take advantage of that."

G wanted to protest, as he had done before, but if he were going to be honest with himself, it was a huge imposition - one he would gladly put up with, given what he was learning about Harry Potter's situation so far, but still an imposition.

So all he could say honestly was, "Thank you."

After a moment, she said, "I should have the information you want in a few hours."

"Thanks, Nell. Good night."


	3. Chapter 3

As much as G wanted to storm the offices of Devereaux, Herrington & Cooke and demand the truth from them, going off half-cocked wouldn't do young Harry any good. Before he confronted anyone, he needed as much information as he could gather.

As the first step in gathering information, G found himself outside 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, where Vernon and Petunia Dursley lived.

Hetty had specifically asked him to interview the Dursleys because "As much as homicide may sometimes be in the public interest, I have no wish to spend my remaining days in prison for murdering them."

Which wasn't the most encouraging of starts, G mused, but he'd had far worse starts to missions than that. He parked his rented car in an available spot and walked the few steps to the house.

The Dursleys - or at least Petunia Dursley - already knew about magic, so he could introduce himself as an ICW representative, which should, hopefully, make his job easier. With any luck, since today was Saturday, both Dursleys would be home, and G could get both of their stories at the same time.

He crossed the street to number four and rapped on the door. A minute later, the door opened to reveal a very fat pre-teen boy.

"Who're you?" the boy asked.

"I need to speak with your parents," G said. The boy might or might not know about magic, so G added, "I'm with Scotland Yard."

"Scotland Yard? Really?" the boy looked more excited than helpful, and G searched his memory for the boy's name. Nell had included it in the packet of information she sent him. It was an unusual name, one that - ah! 

"Yes, really, Dudley," G said. "Are your parents at home?"

The boy paled when G said his name. "How d'you know my name?"

"Scotland Yard, remember?"

"Oh, right." Without another word, the boy - Dudley, and it was a damn shame that giving a child a name that would only be made fun of didn't qualify as child abuse - looked over his shoulder and yelled, "Mum! Dad! The coppers want to talk to you!"

Which might not have been the best way to call for them, G thought, given the exclamations that came from deeper in the house.

Mere seconds later, a large, beefy man with thick dark hair and no neck to speak of appeared in the doorway.

"What has that delinquent freak done this time?"

G stared at him for a few seconds, before shaking his head. "I don't know what delinquent freak you're talking about."

"That no-good nephew of Petunia's! I thought he was away at school."

This wasn't the worst person G had ever interviewed, but after less than a minute, Vernon Dursley was already near the top of his list. Still, G forced himself to remain calm and say only, "Perhaps we should talk about this inside."

The man - Vernon Dursley - scowled but after a moment stood back and G stepped across the threshold.

"Would you like some tea?" The question came from a blonde woman who must be Petunia Dursley, and it was asked in a way that implied she didn't really want to be hospitable.

Perversely, that made him want to accept. But he reminded himself that these people were part of his investigation and shook his head.

"Thank you, ma'am, but no."

Her eyes narrowed. "I thought Dudders said you're Scotland Yard."

"He did," Dudley said.

"But you're an American," Petunia said. 

G allowed himself a slight smile. Lily Potter née Evans had been a smart woman, so it shouldn't be surprising that Petunia Dursley née Evans was, as well - even if she had lousy taste in husbands and clearly spoiled her son to the point of obesity.

"Leaving aside the fact that I could be on a temporary assignment with Scotland Yard," G said, "I have to ask you if it's safe to talk to your family about your nephew."

Vernon Dursley's face reddened. "Are you a freak, too? Get out of my house, this instant! I may have to put up with the brat, but I don't have to put up with you!"

G kept his hands loosely at his side. "Your wife is correct - I'm not with Scotland Yard. I'm a wizard, and I'm on a special assignment for the ICW - no, you don't need to know what that is. You do need to know that the scope of authority they've given me is quite broad. I'd rather not go into just how broad, so if you'll answer a few questions, I'll be on my way, and neither of us will ever have to see the other again."

Despite his easy tone, Dursley's face had gone from red through purple and was now an alarming shade of puce.

"Get! Out! Of my! House!" Dursley's fists clenched, and from his body language, he was a heartbeat or two away from rushing at G - or, maybe, bursting a blood vessel.

"Please, Mr. Dursley," G said. "Let's sit down and have a civilized conversation."

"Civilized? Civilized?!" Dursley had started snorting almost like the minotaur G had once helped contain. "Nothing about you freaks could ever be called civilized!"

And then Dursley charged like that same minotaur.

G breathed a disappointed sigh that was also a spell. "Petrificus totalus."

Dursley's arms slammed to his sides as his legs snapped together. He'd been charging forward, and momentum carried him further so that he landed flat on his face just inches shy of G's toes.

Dudley screamed and Petunia shrieked as she fell to her knees beside her husband and G winced at the sudden piercing pain in his ears. "What have you done to him?" she demanded.

"Made him less of an inconvenience," G snapped back. "All I want to do is ask some questions, but you need to understand that I am authorized to use any means necessary to conduct my investigation. That means I don't need your consent. I don't even need your cooperation. I can get the answers I need by, essentially, raping your mind and nobody will even blink if I do. I, however, find that morally repugnant, so I'm being polite and asking if you'll answer some questions."

Petunia scowled up at him. "You'll undo this if I do?"

"You have my word."

She snorted. "Like the word of a freak means anything."

G matched her disdainful look. "Remember the part about how I don't need your cooperation?"

Petunia blanched. "Dudley, go to your room. Now."

Dudley looked from his mother to G and back, and then turned and hurried - or at least tried to - for the stairs. A thunder of thudding steps later, a door slammed shut upstairs.

Petunia rose to her feet and glared at G. "Ask your questions."

"May I see your guardianship papers for your nephew?"

Petunia snorted and stalked out of the room. While she was gone, G rolled Vernon Dursley over so that he could at least watch the conversation. The man's wide eyes darted from side to side before focusing on G with what G supposed was meant to be murderous rage.

"You're not hurt," G told him. "I cushioned your fall so that you wouldn't break your nose. And now I'm angling you so you can watch my conversation with your wife. I didn't have to do either of those things. If I were the freak you think I am, I wouldn't have done that. I would, however, have done a lot worse to you."

Petunia's footsteps pulled G's attention away from Dursley. She descended the final few stairs and thrust a single sheet of paper at him.

G scanned it quickly, then frowned at the woman. "I asked for guardianship papers, not correspondence."

"That's all there was," Petunia said. "We found the freak one morning in a basket on our doorstep, and this letter was tucked in there with him."

G read the letter more thoroughly, frowning when he came to the reference to blood wards that would protect the Dursleys, as well as Harry Potter himself, from Voldemort. For the briefest of moments, he was glad his partner Sam Hanna wasn't on this assignment with him. Sam would've instantly seen a dozen more ways around that supposed protection than G did, and that would have only made his partner angry.

The rest of the letter was irritatingly, saccharinely sweet, an appeal to the family that Lily and Petunia had once been, and G swallowed back the urge to find the person who'd written the letter - one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore; Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorcerer; Chief Warlock; Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards - and liquefiat him in favor of meeting Petunia Dursley's disdainful gaze once again.

"Tell me about him," G said. "Tell me about Harry Potter."

"That freak." Petunia sniffed in a manner G supposed she thought was haughty. "What's there to say about him other than he's a freak?"

G's mouth tightened. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Dursley." Then he paused for a moment. "What would you most like to have happen when it comes to Harry Potter?"

"I never want to see or hear of that freak again," Petunia declared.

"I'll try to arrange that for you, Mrs. Dursley. Will you sign papers to give up custody of Harry?" 

"Absolutely."

G summoned the paperwork from the shrunken satchel he carried in his pocket and spread it out on the table. "Two sets of paperwork - magical and non-magical."

She signed quickly, and G turned to look down at her husband. "I'm going to release you so you can sign, too. If I have to cast it again, I won't cushion your fall."

Seconds later, Vernon Dursley climbed awkwardly to his feet and stumbled toward the table. Taking the pen in a hand that trembled ever so slightly, he signed his name where his wife told him to.

G collected the signed papers and held up the letter from Albus Dumbledore. "May I keep this?"

"Take it," Petunia replied. "Take it and go."

"Before I do," G began, "I need to tell you that my mission has to do with Harry Potter's safety. I may end up taking him from Britain."

"Good," Dursley snapped. "And good riddance to bad rubbish!"

"If I do that," G said carefully, "the protections mentioned in this letter will fail. You'll be a target for Harry's enemies."

Petunia blanched. "We don't want him back here. Is there any other option?"

"Why should I protect you when you failed to protect him?"

"Because we had no choice!" Petunia declared. "You read that note - as much threatening as anything else. We didn't want the brat, but we were forced to take him in. We weren't forced to love him."

G wondered if she realized exactly how odious that statement made her appear. Before he could respond, she spoke again.

"I know …" she paused, blowing out a long sigh. "I know it's not what Lily would have done. But in a way, we're victims, too. That protection is the only reason we didn't take him down to an orphanage."

G considered that. She still hadn't argued her case very well, but the possibilities G saw were either to drag them through the courts or to give them some kind of protection to make up for what they were losing, a choice between justice (or was it vengeance?) and mercy.

Mercy won out, however narrowly.

"There may be a possibility," he said finally. "But I'll have to check with my superiors about it."

"You said you have broad authority."

"I do," G agreed readily. "But my responsibility is more limited. I'll need their approval before I even talk to you about it."

"But you'll ask?" Petunia looked almost painfully hopeful.

"I'll ask."

* | *

The magical village of Hogsmeade could most kindly be called quaint. G thought antiquated was far more accurate. But the Three Broomsticks was comfortable, even cozy, and G settled by the fire in its common room with a glass of butterbeer to wait for Hetty.

G really wanted something stronger, but he never drank on missions - and this assignment was rapidly turning from a simple custody battle into a mission that made him wish Sam had been read in on it as well. He could use Sam's perspective - not to mention his firepower - on this, but, given Hetty's current level of paranoia when it came to her godson, would have to make do on his own.

He was halfway through his butterbeer when he saw Hetty enter the building. With a wave of his hand, he ordered a second butterbeer, and it was waiting for Hetty when she sat across from him.

"Most thoughtful of you, Mr. Callen." 

Hetty took a drink, even as G sighed internally. He'd once asked her to call him G, as everyone else did, but she'd said, "It's not a name. It's a letter." Which had been a neat diversion, at least until he learned of his Romani heritage - more specifically, that he was king of the Romani. It had taken him about two days to realize that Hetty had known of his heritage and, because she was Romani herself, if only a little, she could not be informal with him, even in private, however much he might prefer it.

Hetty put her glass back on the table. "What have you learned?"

"That we're going to need every ounce of authority the ICW gave me, and every contact you have ever had, if we're going to make things right for Harry Potter."

The lines in Hetty's face seemed to deepen. "Tell me."

"In the magical world, Albus Dumbledore is Harry's guardian - though nobody seems to know why. There are no official records of Harry's guardianship in the mundane world," G continued. "Petunia Evans Dursley had a letter from Dumbledore imploring her to take custody of Harry - which she did, under the mistaken belief that there were blood wards on her property that would keep Harry - and them - safe from Voldemort and his Death Eaters."

"Mistaken belief? You mean there were no wards?"

"Not like she believes, no. There are basic wards, and there's a hint of something deeper, something that might be blood-based, but I couldn't get a read on it."

"That's not like you, Mr. Callen."

"It's -" G paused, searching for the best word. "Incomplete," he concluded finally. "It's like it needs another piece."

"Mm." Hetty appeared to consider that. "What else?"

"The goblins are up for a rebellion," G said cheerfully. "So much so, they might even agree to it being Romani-led."

It had been a long time since he'd seen Hetty look so completely floored. "I - well. Does that have to do with Mr. Potter?"

"Mostly to do with the fact that the system failed him, and the Potter family solicitors appear to be complicit."

"Do explain, Mr. Callen." Hetty eyed her butterbeer dubiously, though she took a swallow. G assumed she was wishing it was her preferred scotch.

"The firm - Devereaux Herrington & Cooke - continues to receive a retainer to manage the Potter accounts and ostensibly to oversee Harry's guardianship."

"What are they actually doing?"

"Not much of anything," G answered honestly. "Their file on the Potters is painfully thin. I wouldn't say they did anything wrong, specifically, but they certainly haven't done much right. That they failed to look into the matter of Harry's guardianship, and that his non-magical relatives have at least neglected him if not outright abused him, is what has the goblins up in arms."

"We'll add that to the list of things to take care of," Hetty said. "Tomorrow, we're going to Hogwarts."

The pronoun surprised him. "We? You don't want me to investigate the place first?"

"Nothing beyond a preliminary scan," Hetty said. "I think we'll beard the old lion in his den."

Hetty must be angry, if she were contemplating confronting an opponent without being fully prepared - unless those meetings he couldn't attend with her were part of that preparation? He'd just have to be prepared for anything.

Which was, G admitted ruefully, par for the course with Hetty Lange.

"How are we doing this?" he asked.

"We're having tea with the deputy headmistress tomorrow afternoon," Hetty said. "I'll explain what's happened and get her advice on how to proceed with Albus Dumbledore."

"Just like that?" G couldn't help being skeptical. Hetty was a legend in both the magical and non-magical intelligence communities, but that wouldn't carry much weight in a school. At least, G didn't think it would, even if Hetty had taught there once.

"Minerva - McGonagall, the deputy headmistress - and her coven assisted me with a matter some time back, which then led to my brief stint teaching at Hogwarts," Hetty said. "I reached out, one old witch to another, and here we are."

G studied her for a moment. She was leaving something out, clearly, but he didn't think it was anything that would affect the mission.

Hetty drained the last of her butterbeer. "It has been a long few days. I believe I will go to bed. Good night, Mr. Callen."

"Good night, Hetty," G answered automatically.

While his people were known in the non-magical world as fortune-tellers, he himself had never had any gift of the Sight or divination. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that tomorrow was going to be momentous.


	4. Chapter 4

G had been to many castles in his life - most of them as brief side-trips after a successful mission, one or two as the mission itself - but he'd never seen one like Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry before. Not in person, anyway.

It looked like a bastard child of Sleeping Beauty's Castle at Disneyland and Lovrijenac Fortress in Dubrovnik - solidly built, but strategically and tactically improbable. G wouldn't want to have to try to defend it against an attack.

Beside him, Hetty stared up at the magnificent edifice for only a moment before striding purposefully across the bridge that led to the main entrance.

A man who looked older than he probably was thanks to his hunched shoulders, pasty face, and sunken, veined cheeks, met them at the gate.

"What'll ye be wanting at Hogwarts, then?" he demanded.

"Mr. Filch," Hetty said. "I won't waste time saying it's good to see you again - we have an appointment for tea with Minerva McGonagall."

Filch grunted. "I seem t'recall she said something of the sort. This way. Mind Mrs. Norris's tail."

Mrs. Norris? G glanced around, but there was no one else in sight, not even a ghost.

"The cat," Hetty whispered, and G bit back a smile. Filch was carrying the cat - a Maine coon or similar, he thought - so it wasn't likely her tail would be bothered by much of anything.

Then Filch was leading them through corridors, up and down staircases that shifted position partway through the trip, and finally into a corridor that had several rooms - classrooms, G thought - along either side.

Filch gestured toward a door at the rear of the classroom. "Professor's office is through there."

"Thank you, Mr. Filch," Hetty said formally, then apparently dismissed the man from her consideration completely as she made her way between the desks and toward the room Filch had indicated.

Hetty knocked on the open door. "Minerva?"

"Henrietta!" the voice from within was decidedly feminine and decidedly Scottish. It was followed very shortly by the rustle of fabric and quick footsteps which resolved themselves into a tall, stern-faced woman with black hair who was an inch or two taller than he was.

Which made her subsequent embrace with the diminutive Hetty Lange all the more amusing to watch, though G was careful to keep his amusement hidden.

"So good to see you again, my friend," Minerva said with a smile. "It's been too long."

"Owls and floo calls are inadequate," Hetty agreed. "Minerva, may I present G Callen, the closest thing to a son I have."

It was all the introduction they'd agreed he'd get, unless something happened that made revealing more information necessary. He smiled and offered his hand. "Professor."

She took his hand in a firm grip. "Minerva, please. Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Thank you, ma'am," G replied, and then fell silent, studying the room as Minerva and Hetty reminisced about their time together at Hogwarts.

Both women were polite enough not to let that conversation dominate, and it was only a few minutes later that Minerva gestured them to seats in the chairs facing her desk. Rather than sit behind it, she conjured a third chair and settled herself into it.

"So, Henrietta," she began. "As pleasant as it is to catch up with an old friend, surely that's not the only reason you're here."

"Why wouldn't it be?" Hetty asked. G noted that tea hadn't appeared yet, and gave the deputy headmistress credit for wanting to get business out of the way first.

"It would be," Minerva allowed, "if you didn't have a bodyguard with you - and yes, that's what he is, son or otherwise."

"Fully licensed ICW hit wizard," G admitted with a smile. "And yes, part of my duty is guarding Hetty, but it's only a part."

Minerva raised one eyebrow. "Am I allowed to know the rest?"

G glanced at Hetty, and she gave an almost imperceptible nod. What they had to say would be better coming from him in his official capacity.

"In due time, yes, ma'am," he said. "What I can say now is that it concerns one of your students."

"Which one?" Minerva seemed poised enough, but G noted the slight tension in her hands where they rested in her lap.

"I'd like to speak with my godson," Hetty said. "Harry Potter."

* | *

"You do it then, if you're so clever!"

Harry Potter looked up at his friend Ron Weasley's outburst - more at the tone, which was almost a snarl, than the actual words.

Ron had been partnered with Hermione Granger for levitation practice in Charms class, and Harry had seen Ron struggling with the _Wingardium Leviosa_ spell from the corner of his eye. Of course, the way Ron's arms flailed about would've been hard for a blind man to miss.

Then Hermione had offered a correction - well, snapped it, if Harry were going to be honest - and that led to Ron's immediate outburst.

Hermione, of course, then performed the charm, and the feather on their table rose a few feet in the air. Professor Flitwick complimented it and used her work as a model for the rest of the class.

By the time the class ended, Ron was in a bad mood.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," Ron said to Harry as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor. "She's a nightmare, honestly."

Then someone was pushing past Harry - he caught a glimpse of Hermione's face and was surprised to see her in tears.

"I think she heard you," he said to Ron.

"So?" Ron looked a little uncomfortable but plowed on anyway. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

Harry had no response to that, at least none that he'd share with Ron. He knew what it was like not to have friends, and it wasn't a nice feeling at all. Privately, he resolved to sit with Hermione in their next class, maybe apologize to her after.

But Hermione wasn't in the next class, and Harry caught up with one of the Gryffindor girls on the way out.

"Have you seen Hermione?"

"She's in the girls' bathroom," the girl - Parvati? Harry thought - said. "She said she wants to be left alone."

"Thanks," Harry murmured as the girl went on her way.

Ron looked even more uncomfortable when Harry told him, but before either of them could say anything more, Professor McGonagall's voice sounded sternly from behind them.

"Mr. Potter, come with me, please."

Harry threw a panicked glance at Ron, but followed the professor down the corridor, wondering what he'd done to incur her wrath.

"Professor?" he asked after two turns and a staircase. "Have I done something wrong?"

His question stopped her in her tracks, and she turned to face him with the gentlest expression he'd ever seen on her face. "No, Mr. Potter, you've done absolutely nothing wrong. There is, however, someone here to see you. It's about your parents."

_My parents?_ Harry didn't know whether to be excited or terrified at the thought of speaking to someone about his parents, and eventually settled on a combination of the two.

Finally, Professor McGonagall paused outside a classroom. "I'm certain you're nervous about this, but I assure you, there is nothing to fear. There are two people inside, and they simply want to talk to you."

"Do I have to?" Harry asked.

"I'm afraid so," she replied, not unkindly. "But you are free to leave at any time, if you choose. I do urge you to listen to what they have to say, however."

She gestured him toward the classroom, and Harry pushed the door open.

Inside, two people waited. The first was a man who might be, perhaps, as old as Uncle Vernon, but where Uncle Vernon was fat and loud, this man was athletically built and stood quietly behind the second person in the room.

The second person was a woman who reminded him of a character he'd glimpsed in a cartoon movie Dudley watched once. He didn't know the character's name, but she had round glasses like his own and hair cut in a short bob, and barely stood as tall as Harry himself when she rose from her chair.

"Hello, Harry," she said. "It's been a very long time."

Harry blinked. "Do I - know you?"

"It's more that I know you," she said.

"He's young, Hetty," the man behind her said, his tone one of fond exasperation. "Keep the riddle-speak to a minimum, at least until you get to know him, please?"

"Of course, Mr. Callen." She glared up at the man briefly but without real anger, and as she returned her gaze to Harry, he heard the classroom door close behind him. "My apologies, Harry. The last time I saw you, you were barely a year old."

"Who are you?" Harry knew he sounded rude, even accusing, but this woman who seemed a combination of Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore, with a hint of mothering thrown in, could certainly handle a rude eleven-year-old boy.

"My name is Henrietta Lange," she said, "and I am your godmother and namesake."

"Namesake?" Harry repeated the unfamiliar word. "I don't understand."

"You were named after three people, Henry James Potter," she said. "Henry for your great-grandfather Henry Potter, as your father wanted, and for me as your mother wanted. James, of course, for your father as both of your parents wanted."

Harry didn't try to hide his confusion. "But - my name's Harry."

"Which is a nickname for Henry," the man - Callen - said. "Like Prince Harry is really Henry Charles Albert David."

_But nobody's ever called me Henry, only Harry._ Before Harry could ask the question aloud, Hetty spoke.

"Sit, Harry," Henrietta - though Callen had called her Hetty, so how was Harry supposed to address her? - said. "We have a lot to talk about and not much time to do it."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I can admit when I goofed, and chapter five as originally posted was a goof. Long story short, my computer had issues, and while I thought I had recovered the correct draft, apparently I hadn't. Mea maxima culpa.
> 
> So here's the correct version of chapter five, plus chapters six and seven, just to get us all caught up to the same place where we were before.

The Halloween decorations in the Great Hall were almost enough to distract Harry from the conversation he'd had with his godmother - if only because the thousands of live bats made keeping out of their way the most important thing he had to do at the moment.

He had to admit he was grateful for the distraction, however brief it might be. All the things his godmother had told him tumbled about in his head, and try as he might, he couldn't bring them into any kind of order.

Think, Harry. Lay it all out in your mind.

He had a godmother and a godfather - not his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon - who should have been notified of his parents' deaths so that they could arrange custody for him. His godfather was in prison without a trial - and might have betrayed his parents. His godmother hadn't been able to find him after his parents' death, but now that she had, and now that she knew he'd been given to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, she was going to do everything she could to make certain that changed, and he could live where he wanted to.

Which, Harry admitted earnestly, was anywhere but with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. His godmother - who had insisted on being called Hetty - had smiled and said she'd take care of it.

"I asked for help before, you know," Harry said. "Nobody listened."

"Shame on them," Hetty answered forcefully. "But you see the difference, now, don't you? You're not asking. I'm offering, and I'll keep offering until you decide what you want to do, and then I'll move heaven and earth to make it happen."

It was all a little overwhelming.

Harry slipped into a seat beside Ron, who was already helping himself to a baked potato. A glance up and down the table told him that Hermione still hadn't returned.

Ron, though, was dead curious. "What happened?" he asked. "You were gone for hours."

"It's - hard to explain," Harry said.

Then he caught sight of Hetty and Callen sitting at the end of the head table closest to Professor McGonagall. Neither Hetty nor Callen looked particularly out of place, despite their obviously Muggle clothing, he thought.

Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato like Ron's when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Harry stared - along with every other student in the hall - as Quirrell reached the head table and slumped against it, gasping, "Troll - in the dungeons - thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

Harry barely heard the uproar that followed, let alone Professor Dumbledore's instruction to return to the dormitories. His thoughts coalesced into one terrifying realization.

Hermione doesn't know about the troll.

Harry's first instinct was to run off to the girls' bathroom to find her, to protect her - but something Hetty had said echoed in his memory.

"I understand you haven't had much luck with adults in your life so far, but I do hope you'll trust Mr. Callen and me."

She was right - every time he'd sought an adult's assistance so far, he'd ended up the worse for wear - but something about Hetty made Harry want to trust her. At least, he corrected ruefully, it made him want to test her, to see if he could trust her.

So while Percy Weasley was self-importantly corralling the other Gryffindor first years, Harry made his way up to the head table. Hetty was with Professor McGonagall, and Callen stood with the headmaster and other professors, who were apparently discussing what to do about the troll. Callen's expression was entirely neutral, which made Harry wonder what he was thinking.

Harry hated to draw attention to himself by interrupting, but Hermione - well, she could be annoying, but she should know about the troll. Harry steeled himself and tapped Callen's arm. "Mr. Callen?"

Harry was surprised when Callen turned to him immediately. "Harry?"

Harry took a breath. "It's Hermione - a first year, like me. She's not in the hall, and she doesn't know about the troll. She could be in danger."

Callen moved away from the group he'd been with, and none of them even seemed to notice. "Do you have any idea where she might be?"

"The girls' bathroom," Harry said. 

"I have no idea where that is," Callen said. "Do you?"

"This way!"

Harry darted toward the Hufflepuffs, as they were heading closest to where the girls' bathroom was. Callen caught up with him just as they cleared the Great Hall.

With a lot of glances over his shoulder to make sure Callen was following, Harry sprinted toward the girls' bathroom.

A whiff of something horrible - old socks and a public toilet that hadn't been cleaned in years - assaulted him, and when something heavy landed on his shoulder Harry hated to admit that he screamed a little before he realized it was Callen's hand.

"Troll," Callen said. "We're close." Then he grinned at Harry. "To quote a cartoon character, follow your nose. It always knows."

Harry gladly let Callen take the lead, though a detached part of him noted that Callen treated him more like a partner than a kid. It was unfamiliar, but he liked it.

A high, petrified scream pierced the corridor and his thoughts.

"Hermione!" Harry dashed past Callen to the door on the left side of the corridor that led to the girls' bathroom and yanked the door open.

The troll's twelve-foot-tall, lumpy body filled most of his vision, but he could just see Hermione shrinking against the far wall, looking as if she might faint as the troll advanced on her, knocking sinks off the walls as it went.

He couldn't fight the troll, but he had to do something. Maybe he could distract it until Callen caught up to him - if Callen caught up to him. No! He couldn't think like that. Instinctively, he grabbed a tap and threw it against a wall.

The troll stopped just a few feet from Hermione, made a slow, lumbering turn as it looked stupidly for whatever had made the noise.

"C'mon, Hermione! Run!" Harry shouted desperately as the troll started toward him, but she didn't move, her mouth still opened in terror.

"Incarcerous."

The word came from behind him, and Harry felt magic shifting around him. Then a web of thick ropes flew past him and wrapped themselves around the troll, binding its arms to its body as well as binding its legs together. The bound-up troll teetered for a moment, then fell sideways against one wall, bellowing its rage even as it struggled to find leverage to get free. Then it jerked with the impact of another spell and fell silent.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted again and clambered through the space between the troll and the wall it wasn't leaning on.

"Is it - is it dead?" she asked in a small voice.

"No," Callen's voice came from behind Harry. "Just a stunning spell. I'll have questions for it later."

"But I thought trolls are stupid," Hermione said, her voice getting stronger as she spoke. "It says so in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them."

"They are," Callen agreed easily. "Doesn't mean they don't have memories that a pensieve can project or a skilled legilimens can read."

"Are you a - wait," Hermione stopped herself. "Who are you, exactly?"

Harry chuckled to himself, amused that it had taken her that long to ask the question that would normally be first out of her mouth.

"Callen," he said simply. "I work for the ICW."

Hermione frowned. "The ICW hunts trolls?"

"On occasion. Are you hurt?"

"I - don't think so?"

"Still, we should have the school nurse check you over," Callen said, and turned to Harry. "Do you know where that is?"

"I can take her to the hospital wing," Harry replied.

Callen's jaw dropped - literally dropped. "Hospital wing? Seriously?"

"Well, yes," Harry said, surprised at the man's reaction. "It's just in case someone gets hurt at Quidditch or something."

"Right." Callen still looked disbelieving, but a sudden slamming and loud footsteps prevented him from saying anything else.

A moment later, Professors McGonagall and Snape filled the doorway, Hetty not far behind them.

"What happened here?" Professor McGonagall asked as Professor Snape went to examine the troll.

"That's exactly what I want to know," Callen said. "Please tell the headmaster that I want to meet with all the staff tomorrow morning before classes. These two, as well."

Harry expected Professor McGonagall to snap back, but she merely nodded. "Very well."

"Harry, are you all right? And your friend?" Hetty asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied. "She wasn't at dinner, so I asked Mr. Callen if he could help me find her to tell her about the troll and bring her back to the dorms."

"Very wise," Hetty said with a smile.

"And he did," Harry said, still half disbelieving his own memory."

"Of course." Callen clapped him on the shoulder before looking at Hetty. "Harry was about to lead the way to the hospital wing when you all arrived. His friend - Hermione, right? - doesn't think she was injured, but she's still had a fright."

"Quite right," Hetty said. "I'll be happy to escort you - in case there's another troll."

"Thanks." Harry turned back to Hermione and offered her a hand up before leading her out of the bathroom. Hetty fell into step behind them, far enough back that they could talk quietly together. Not that Harry had any idea what to say.

Hermione did, though.

"Thank you, Harry," she murmured. "For coming after me, and for distracting the troll."

"I had to," Harry said simply. "Not just because I'm part of the reason you were here."

"You weren't," Hermione protested.

"I was - because of what Ron said to me," Harry explained, and Hermione's eyes widened.

"He would've said it to someone else if you hadn't been there," she said.

"But I was there, and it was me," Harry said. "And I want to apologize for not sticking up for you right then. It's just -"

He broke off, knowing what he needed to say, but despite being placed in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart, the words weren't coming easily. Acknowledging his treatment at the Dursleys' hands seemed like weakness, and he'd learned never to show weakness. But in this moment, Hermione needed to know more than he needed to be strong.

"It's just I've been bullied," he said in a rush. "And I don't want to be kind of person who lets that happen to others."

Hermione was quiet for a long while. Then, "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't know. I mean - the books about you -"

"Were wrong," Hetty said from behind them. "And we will be dealing with them, too."

Hermione actually stumbled a step, as though the thought that a book could be wrong was offensive in itself, but it was probably just because, like Harry, she'd forgotten Hetty was there.

"It's okay," Harry said quickly.

"It's not," Hermione said. "Bullying is never okay. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Harry flushed, but he wasn't certain whether it was from embarrassment or shame.

The rest of the trip to the hospital wing passed in comfortable silence. Then, while Madam Pomfrey was checking Hermione, Hetty sat down next to him in the waiting area.

"I'm … well," she began, then paused as though sorting out her thoughts. "I am immensely grateful that you approached Mr. Callen."

Harry swallowed, hard, and then decided to be as honest with her as she'd been with him. "It - was a test."

Hetty smiled. "I know. And I knew he - we - would pass."

* | *

Interrogating trolls was never easy, let alone fun, but the procedure was much simpler when the troll in question was unconscious. The stun spell wouldn't last much longer, so G dropped to the floor and settled his mind for what was to come.

"'Ere, now, I'll take 'im."

G looked up, and up, and up some more at the rough voice into the face of a very large, wild-looking man with a beard. The man had to squeeze a bit to get through the door into the girls' bathroom.

"Who are you, and who are you planning to take?" G didn't bother to moderate his tone at the interruption.

"Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds. An' I teach Care of Magical Creatures, too." The man seemed quite proud of that fact. "Professor Dumbledore sent me to take care of the troll."

"When I'm finished, then," G said.

Hagrid frowned. "Professor said to get 'im out of the bathroom quick-like, so as not t' scare the students anymore."

"And this troll just became part of an ICW investigation." It wasn't a lie so much as an exaggeration. G had done far worse on some of his undercover assignments.

Hagrid looked confused for a moment, but then shook his head. "The professor -"

"Isn't in charge of this." G still hadn't moved from where he sat, though his concentration was shot. "You can wait outside until I'm finished, and then you can take him."

Hagrid opened his mouth, but before he could say anything else, G changed tactics. "You can wait outside or you can spend a month in an ICW detention cell for obstructing an investigation. Your choice."

Fear flickered across the big man's face, and he said, "Well, a few minutes won't hurt nothin', I s'pose."

He backed out of the bathroom hastily, and G once again settled his mind. When he was ready, he opened his eyes and focused on the troll.

"Legilimens."

This troll appeared to be stupider than most. Where once in a while G could find rudimentary concepts attached to the grunts that made up the trolls' language, all he was getting from the troll before him were impressions, blotches of images and associated feelings - one of which stood out more than the others.

Purple important. Purple scary.

G broke the mental connection, breathing slowly and deeply as he returned to himself and banished the other images he'd gotten from the troll's mind.

It wasn't much to go on, but maybe it would be enough - especially after he inspected the school's wards.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I can admit when I goofed, and chapter five as originally posted was a goof. Long story short, my computer had issues, and while I thought I had recovered the correct draft, apparently I hadn't. Mea maxima culpa.
> 
> I've posted the correct version of chapter five, so you may want to go back to that before you continue on.

"C'mon, Harry." Ron's voice came from where he sprawled on a couch in the Gryffindor common room and cut into Harry's thoughts. "Breakfast's almost over. We'll miss it if we don't go soon."

Harry paused in his pacing at the foot of the stairs to the girls' dormitory to glare at him. "You need to apologize to Hermione, and she hasn't come down yet."

"Apologize? For what?"

"For insulting her to start," Harry said. "And because that insult nearly killed her."

"What?" Ron sat up, his expression confused. "No! The troll -"

"She wasn't in the common room," Harry said. "She was in the bathroom. The bathroom where the troll found her."

"So?"

Harry blew out a breath. "Why was she in the bathroom, Ron?"

Ron shrugged. "Who knows? Girls are mental."

Harry could only stare at the boy he'd thought was his first friend. "Don't you get it? She was in the bathroom - _crying_ in the bathroom - because of what you said. Your words. So you need to apologize."

Harry watched the play of expressions on Ron's face - from anger, to stubborn defiance, to resigned acceptance.

"Okay. I'll apologize."

_But you won't mean it, will you?_ Harry wondered. _You'll do it because I'm asking, but you still don't see why you should._

Harry hated that realization - and the others that followed on its heels - but he was distracted from his thoughts when Hermione's voice came from behind him.

"Harry? Ron? Shouldn't you be at breakfast?"

Harry turned to her. "Hey. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Harry, really." She smiled, just a little. "I didn't even need the dreamless sleep potion Madam Pomfrey gave me. I was just going to take it back to her."

"We'll walk with you," Harry offered, taking a step back so she could finish coming down the stairs.

Her smile got bigger. "You don't have to - but that's very nice of you."

Harry fell into step with her and Ron levered himself off the couch.

Once they were out of the common room and into the corridor, Ron cleared his throat. "I'm sorry."

Hermione didn't answer immediately, and after a moment Harry bumped his shoulder into hers. She frowned at him briefly, then her eyes widened. "Sorry for what?"

"For you being in the bathroom when the troll got in," Ron said. "I'm sorry."

Hermione arched an eyebrow at him. "But I'm still a nightmare?"

Ron flushed redder than his hair. "Well - maybe not a nightmare, exactly, but you've got to admit you … well …"

"There's nothing wrong with studying hard!" Hermione protested.

"Of course not," Harry agreed quickly. "But - well - there's more to life than studying."

"Like wizard's chess," Ron said. "And Quidditch. And -"

"And whatever you like," Harry finished. "We're not saying _never_ study - just maybe make time for other things, too?"

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and Harry was starting to think that maybe he'd said something wrong, before Hermione said, hesitantly, "Will you teach me how to play wizard's chess?"

Ron grinned widely. "Sure!"

Harry sighed softly. That hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped, but better than he'd expected, and he'd take what he could get.

They had just turned down the last corridor to the Hospital Wing when footsteps - harsh, running footsteps - sounded like they were approaching fast. Memories of Dudley's gang Harry-hunting swarmed through his mind even faster than the footsteps, and Harry dove for the closest hiding place - behind heavy curtains by a window in the corridor.

Harry barely noticed Ron and Hermione joining him as he peeked from behind the curtain to see who could be running through the corridor so early. The runner dashed by with a flash of purple, and Harry frowned.

"Harry? What's going on?" Hermione asked quietly, after Professor Quirrell had passed - because it was Professor Quirrell. Harry thought furiously. Why would he be running from Madam Pomfrey? Unless…

Harry slipped out from behind the curtain without answering, and once the other two had as well, he said, "What if it's Quirrell?

"What _are_ you talking about?" Hermione demanded.

Ron's eyes had widened at Harry's question. Now he cleared his throat. "Harry's scar sometimes hurts," Ron began, but Harry cut him off.

"It's a long story," he said, "but Ron and I have been thinking somebody might be after whatever's in the third-floor corridor. Maybe that somebody is Quirrell, and he's going after it now."

"Why now?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "How should I know? Maybe his run-in with the troll last night spooked him?"

"We should tell a professor," Hermione said.

"By the time we do that, he'll have gotten to the third-floor corridor," Harry objected. "We've got to stop him. Come on!"

* | *

G supposed he shouldn't be surprised to find that Hogwarts had conference rooms. Or maybe it just rearranged a room to be a conference room at need - he hadn't taken the time to study the castle-school's magic in depth after he'd learned what he needed from the wards.

While G normally preferred a straightforward approach, his study of Albus Dumbledore had suggested he needed a different one. So, in a move as calculated as it was petty, he waited a good ten minutes after the appointed time before he strolled into the conference room where the Hogwarts staff had gathered.

"I am not pleased," the headmaster said from the head of the table, "to be summoned to a meeting in my own school, much less being made to wait after such a summons."

G gave him a tight smile. "I am not pleased that _three_ dark creatures got past the school's wards and none of you knew it."

"Impossible," McGonagall said - involuntarily, given her expression. Professors Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick silently echoed her sentiment.

"No safer place in Britain than Hogwarts," Hagrid declared. "'Cept maybe Gringotts."

Dumbledore took a more cautious tack. "Three, you say? Can you explain?"

"Two trolls and one that I can't identify yet," G replied, choosing to ignore that there had been an attempted break-in at Gringotts not that long ago.

"Do you know where these other two dark creatures are?" Snape asked with a sneer.

_I'm not a bloodhound._ G shoved that reply down before it could so much as try to pass his lips. Instead, he said, "Surely you'd know better than I would. Perhaps the Defense against the Dark Arts professor can help?" Then he gave an exaggerated glance around the room. "Where _is_ Professor Quirrell, anyway?"

"Still in the infirmary, unfortunately," Dumbledore replied. "The poor fellow hit his head when he fell. Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping him overnight."

G stared at the older man, not bothering to hide his confusion. "And you don't think that's a problem? That a professor who's supposed to teach children to defend themselves from dark arts _fainted_ at the thought of a dark creature?"

"In his defense, trolls are pretty terrifying," Flitwick said. "Even goblins are cautious with them."

"But he's supposed to know how to handle them," G pointed out. "Dark arts includes dark creatures, after all."

"While I am willing to concede that the ICW may have legitimate concerns when it comes to the security of the school and the students," Dumbledore said, "I am at a loss as to how it could legitimately question staffing decisions."

"That may be true." G had to acknowledge that point. "However, as a potential guardian of one of your students, I'm questioning the hell out of your staffing decisions. And your choice to scatter the students throughout the school when you had no idea where the troll was. That's lousy operational security."

That made Dumbledore sit forward, even as the other professors exchanged quiet murmurs - including Professor McGonagall, G noted. He could only hope that she wasn't saying anything she shouldn't.

"Which one of my students?" Dumbledore demanded.

"That's a discussion for later," G said smoothly. "For now, though, I suggest you consider what additional precautions you're going to take so that no more dark creatures cross Hogwarts' boundaries without someone - _anyone_ \- being notified. I also suggest you consider getting someone in here who understands how to protect this place."

"This is a school, young man," Dumbledore said with a frown.

"And students should be safe in school," G replied. "I gotta tell you - right now, your students? Are not safe. At all."

His words fell into the silence and lingered there. He let the silence stretch out, and it had just gotten past the point of being uncomfortable when the door to the conference room burst open.

"Headmaster!"

G didn't recognize the voice, and he glanced over his shoulder - only to do a double-take when he saw Hetty Lange supporting an older woman wearing a nurse's uniform that might have come from the First World War, or even earlier.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Dumbledore shot to his feet. "What is going on?"

"Professor Quirrell," the woman he'd addressed as Pomfrey replied. "He - stunned me. When Ms. Lange woke me up, he wasn't in the infirmary."

"Where is he?" Sprout asked.

"Oh!" Flitwick gasped. "You don't think he's going after the -"

"Even if he is," Dumbledore said smoothly, "the … item … is very well protected. He'll never get near it."

A slight movement from Hetty caught G's eye, and he flicked a glance her way. Years of working with her allowed him to read her expression - and her orders - easily.

"I guess we'll find out," G said. "Hetty - don't let them leave."

"See here, young man -!" Dumbledore began, but G cut him off.

"That's Agent Callen, Headmaster," G told him. "And in my capacity as an ICW agent, I'm ordering all of you to stay here, or be charged with obstruction."

He saw Hetty's nod and strode toward the door, reaching out for Hogwarts' wards as he did.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry skidded to a stop outside a door in the third floor corridor, Ron and Hermione dogging his heels. The door stood ever so slightly open, which was the only indication that it was the one Quirrell had gone through.

He pushed the door further open, then jerked back in surprise. A monstrous dog filled the space between the floor and the ceiling, but its size wasn't the worst thing about it. The worst thing about this dog was that it had three heads. Three noses, sniffing the air. Three jaws, dripping drool on the floor at its fee. Three pairs of eyes almost glowing in the dimness.

Three throats rumbling with growls. Harry stayed completely still, not wanting to provoke it.

"Y'know what? Quirrell can have whatever it is," Ron said, his voice quivering.

"It's a Cerberus," Hermione said. "From Greek mythology. And it's guarding something. See that trap door beneath it?"

"How does that bloody well help us?" Ron demanded.

But as soon as Hermione said it was from Greek mythology, Harry remembered a book he'd found in the library at school - it had a funny name, but it was full of Greek myths, and one of them was the Cerberus.

"Music will put it to sleep," he said.

"Because we just happen to have a piano," Ron muttered.

Harry was about to admit that Hermione had been right, that they should've told a professor, when she began to sing.

" _Sleep my child and peace attend thee, all through the night. Guardian angels God will send thee, all through the night._ "

Harry jerked his head around to look at her, but she just pointed at the Cerberus - no, Harry realized, the trap door beneath the Cerberus - and kept singing.

" _Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, hill and dale in slumber sleeping. I my loved ones' watch am keeping, all through the night._ "

The Cerberus' eyes started to drift closed, and it jerked its heads up only for them to droop again.

"C'mon." Harry grabbed Ron's sleeve and tugged him past the dog toward the trap door while Hermione sang.

He got the trap door open and Ron almost dove through it. Harry turned to Hermione, and then could only stare as she approached each of the dog's heads in turn to pour a little of the dreamless sleep potion on the floor beside it.

Then she was beside him, and he gestured her to precede him. She shook her head and broke the rhythm of the lullaby to whisper, "Together."

She resumed the verse, and Harry smiled at her. Then, together, they jumped.

* | *

G paused as soon as the door closed behind him, feeling a slight shift in the wards that told him Hetty had sealed the door. Now all he had to do was find an opposite shift - an opening where there shouldn't be one.

Odd - he didn't sense any fluctuations in the wards.

_Plan B, then._

_"Designa tractus."_

G supposed he should be ashamed of putting a tracking charm on Professor Quirrell - even given the professor's fainting spell, and especially since he had no actual reason to suspect the professor other than instinct, the charm had seemed like overkill.

But, as Hetty always said, there was no such thing as overkill, and now G was glad he'd given in to his instincts and cast the charm.

G followed the pull on his magic through the twisty corridors and staircases, finding himself on the third floor along the right-hand side and to a door that stood ajar.

According to the tracking charm, Quirrell was past that door. With a silent breath in and out, G pushed the door open, wincing as it creaked.

The growls came as a surprise. The three-headed dog they were attached to … well, that was the stuff of nightmares.

"Cerberus," G swore aloud, and shuffled through his memories, trying to remember what he knew of the creature as well as trying to ignore the three noses that shifted in his direction.

_Think, G … Cerberus guards the Underworld to keep the dead from escaping… captured by Hercules, no help there… wasn't there another myth? …_

Staying completely still, G scanned the room, hoping for … he didn't know what, other than some clue that might jog his memory. He hadn't expected to find a harp lying on the floor, neatly snapped in two, but seeing it clicked everything into place.

_Orpheus and Eurydice - he went into Hades to retrieve her, and he sang the dog to sleep. Looks like a harp will work as well. Not that I know how to play one. Maybe just strumming the strings will work if I hit it with a mending charm?_

Silently, he summoned the pieces to him. The Cerberus sensed the movement, and the head nearest the harp swung around to catch the harp in its massive jaws. A crunch later, and G figured that, even if the dog spat all the pieces and strings out, he'd need a stronger mending charm than he was usually capable of. There had to be another way to get past the creature…

Then he cursed himself for missing the obvious. He'd heard that electronics wouldn't work in Hogwarts, but a simple playback of a recording saved to a device might.

A moment later, G had his cell phone in his hand and pulled up the list of songs he had saved on it, trying not to be nervous as two of the dog's heads gave him a good sniffing.

Romani had unusual relationships with many magical creatures. Unfortunately, G hadn't really grown up Romani, so he had no idea what to expect from a Cerberus's examination.

Thankfully, the recording of _O Holy Night_ \- as seasonally inappropriate as it was - served to lull the Cerberus to sleep within seconds.

Another couple of taps had the music on a repeat loop, so G took a moment to search the room.

Besides a few splinters from the broken harp, there was only a trapdoor in the floor.

An _open_ trapdoor.

With a sigh, G crept forward to the opening and turned on the flashlight app on his phone to shine it down into the space beneath.

In the darkness, something moved.

Well, then.

G shut off the flashlight app and shoved the phone into his pocket. Most living things were afraid of fire - with good reason - and he conjured a ball of magical fire in his hand before jumping down.

He landed more softly than he expected and paused a moment to take in his surroundings. Vegetation - some kind of plant? Then his eyes adjusted to the dimness and he recognized it.

_Devil's Snare. Of course. What else would you use for a trap?_

Carefully, he clambered free of the plant, noting a few scorch marks on it as he did so. Clearly, Quirrell - or whoever had been here before him - had come to the same conclusion he had, only _after_ they'd fallen into the plant's twining vines.

A glance around told him that a stone corridor was the only way forward, so he stopped the music playback and continued onward.

Several yards down the passageway, a soft rustling and clinking seemed to come from the direction he was headed.

A few steps later, a soft light glowed in the passage, and G extinguished the magical flame with a thought. A few more steps, and the light resolved into a brilliantly-lit chamber with a high arched ceiling. The arched part of the ceiling was filled with small, jewel-bright birds fluttering overhead. Across the chamber from where G stood, a heavy wooden door blocked further passage.

It was a safe assumption that the door was locked and warded against most unlocking spells, but G had learned many years ago never to assume - or at the least, always to check his assumptions. So he crossed the room, wary of the army of birds overhead, and tested the doorknob and cast an unlocking charm. As expected, the door remained closed and locked.

_I'm Romani. There isn't a lock in the world I can't get through._

He cast a protective shield spell, conjured a set of lockpicks, and set to work, channeling his magic into the lockpicks. Less than thirty seconds later, the lock clicked.

A whoosh of noise overhead made him glance back at the birds - only then realizing that they were _keys_ , not birds - to see that they weren't just hovering anymore. Now they were swarming in a pattern he didn't recognize but, given that this was one of many traps between him and his quarry, G could guess what the pattern was a prelude to.

"Gotta be quick," he muttered and vanished the lockpicks.

As quickly as he could, G opened the door just wide enough for him to slip inside, then closed it behind him, _thunks_ as the bird-keys slammed into the door making it shudder.

Almost before he'd confirmed the door behind him was secure, the room lit brightly, and G flinched against the glow. When the spots had cleared from his eyes, he saw Hermione Granger kneeling beside a red-headed boy who appeared to be unconscious.

She had her wand in her hand, pointed at him, and even as he held his hands up and away from his body, he saw that she'd been crying.

"Easy, Hermione," he said. "It's just me."

She lowered her wand. G took three long steps to kneel beside them, checking first the boy's pulse and then for any broken bones. The kid had taken a hard knock to the head, but G couldn't find anything else wrong on a cursory physical examination.

"A-agent Callen." Hermione's voice was shaky, but she seemed unhurt. "Harry told me to go back, but I couldn't leave Ron, and even if I dragged him with me, how would I get him past the Devil's Snare, much less back up through the trapdoor? I couldn't go with him, and I can't go back without leaving Ron! I'm stuck!"

G let her babble for a moment as he surveyed the room. She and the red-headed boy - Ron - appeared to be collapsed on the remains of a life-size chessboard. If he were reading the scene correctly, Ron had been astride one of the knights when it was taken - which is to say, destroyed - by the opposite side.

He brought his attention back to Hermione as she seemed to be winding down.

"- and you have to stop Professor Quirrell from getting - well, whatever it is!"

Whatever "it" was, it was certainly the _item_ Dumbledore had talked about securing. But why would anyone hide anything worth guarding with so many puzzle-traps in a _school?_

"Yes," Hermione all but shouted. "It's through there -" she gestured across the chessboard to where G assumed another passageway, and another trap, waited. "Harry went after him. We can't let him steal it!"

G made a snap decision"Do you know what a cell phone is?"

Her jaw clicked shut, and she nodded. "I'm muggle-born."

"Good," G said sincerely and handed over his phone. "You may have to go back to the flying keys to get reception, but call Hetty Lange, she's in my contacts under _H_ , tell her what you told me, and that I'm going after Harry."

"I can do that." She bit her lip. "Is - is Ron all right?"

G cast a quick diagnostic spell to supplement his physical exam, and then a general-purpose healing spell. "He will be. Call Hetty."

"Right." Hermione sat up straighter, her expression determined, but she paused with her finger over the screen. "Oh! I almost forgot - I don't know that you'll be able to go further. There was a logic puzzle trap, seven potion vials, one to get you through the flames, and one to get you safely back. Harry used the one to go through, and I used the one to come back."

G replayed her words in his head. There were seven vials when she and Harry got to the room - but if Quirrell had got there before them and used one, that meant the potions reset to seven automatically.

"Okay," he said, then blew out a breath. "I can solve logic puzzles, but it'll take me some time, and that may be something Harry doesn't have. Will you tell me the solution?"

"Smallest bottle gets you through, rounded bottle on the right end gets you back." She didn't hesitate, and G had to respect her appreciation of the severity of the situation. "Assuming they didn't re-work the clues, too."

"That's a risk I'll have to take." G hurried across the room and through the next door, almost gagging at the smell that greeted him. The sight wasn't much better - a troll larger than the one that had threatened Hermione in the girls' bathroom lay on the floor, a bloody lump on its head.

_What is it with trolls at Hogwarts?_

But that was a question for another time. Because there was no such thing as overkill, G sent a stunner at the troll as he hurried past the unconscious creature to the next door.

It wasn't until he crossed the threshold that the flames lit up - purple behind him, black ahead. G ignored them, scanning the table where the potion vials sat and counting seven. He breathed a sigh of relief that the potions had, in fact, reset, and quickly crossed to the table.

He grabbed the smallest vial and downed the contents in one swallow - potions were rarely pleasant in his experience. This one was no different, except that instead of it tasting like something out of the sewer, it went down as though he'd swallowed an iceberg.

With a breath to steel himself, he strode through the black flames and into the next chamber.

* | *

Harry had never expected _this_.

That Professor Quirrell, not Professor Snape, was after the Philosopher's Stone was not what he'd concluded but wasn't all that surprising in the grand scheme of things.

That Voldemort had possessed Professor Quirrell - willingly or otherwise - was only somewhat more surprising, and that more for the fact that Voldemort wasn't really dead than anything else.

That Quirrell - Voldemort - was using the Mirror of Erised, and Harry himself, to try to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone was, after all, only to be expected, given the earlier facts.

That Quirrell's - Voldemort's? - touch burned not only him, but also Quirrell - Harry had never expected.

That he, Harry, had the fortitude to hold on, no matter how long it took or how much his scar hurt - _that_ Harry was proud of. Even if he might never forget the sound of Quirrell's screams echoing through the chamber.

_Hold on_ , he told himself, over and over. _Hold on. It's the only thing stopping him._

He held on until the pain became too much, overwhelming, and as he felt himself falling into unconsciousness, he thought he heard a voice.

_"Diffindo. Stupefy."_


	8. Chapter 8

The last time G had come to St. Mungo's, he'd been a patient - a minor injury after a case in London with his former partner, Tracy. This time, he was standing guard at the door that led to the patients' rooms.

Harry was beyond that door, along with Hetty as his guardian, and G had been tasked with keeping unwanted visitors away. The dozen or so people waiting for treatment or for word on their loved ones had looked up curiously when Harry was brought in, a few had frowned when G took up his post, but now the novelty had worn off, and nobody was paying him much attention, which left him to amuse himself.

Which he did by reviewing the events that had brought him here. _At least I know why I kept seeing purple in that troll's memory - the exact purple of Quirrell's turban._

_And what the bloody hell was anyone thinking, putting the Philosopher's Stone - or even a replica - in a_ school _when_ terrorists _were hunting for it?_

G fumed over that situation as well as the other astonishing lapses in security at Hogwarts for about five minutes before Albus Dumbledore strolled into the lobby.

"Why did you insist on taking Harry to St. Mungo's?" the man asked. "Madam Pomfrey is quite capable."

G bit back a sarcastic comment. Hetty would, no doubt, have plenty of them once she emerged from the depths of St. Mungo's, and G knew better than to steal her thunder in a situation like this. Still, Dumbledore was waiting for an answer, so G met his gaze.

"I've no doubt Madam Pomfrey is a capable nurse," G said. "But since no one knows exactly what was going on between Harry and that thing that was Quirrell, I thought it was safest to have them where doctors - healers - are. It's the same reason," he added almost as an afterthought, "that I didn't just kill Quirrell where he stood."

Dumbledore gaped at him. "Surely you wouldn't have -"

"Why wouldn't I have?" G countered. "He was threatening - _hurting_ \- a child. Maybe killing him."

"Everyone deserves a chance at redemption."

G stared at him for long moments. "It should be comforting that there are people who believe that. And I agree with you, to a certain extent. But, carried beyond reason, it's a naïve belief, one that could get good, innocent people killed."

"Now, see here, young man -"

"I told you, it's Agent Callen." G held up a hand. "Furthermore, you don't get to lecture me about matters of which you're at least partially ignorant."

"Even if that were true," and Dumbledore's tone suggested it wasn't - or at least that _he_ didn't think it was, "I want to see Harry myself."

"He's not allowed visitors until the healers are satisfied," G said. It wasn't the first time he'd said it, and it likely wouldn't be the last, because while people who casually wished Harry well would accept his words, Albus Dumbledore was more tenacious than a dog with a bone when he chose to be.

"As his magical guardian -" Dumbledore began. It was the opening G had been waiting for.

"Are you?" he tried to inject genuine curiosity into his tone.

"As his magical guardian," Dumbledore repeated more forcefully, "I insist on seeing him, to ascertain for myself that he is recovering."

"Then I insist on seeing the paperwork that made you his magical guardian," G said.

Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height, obviously affronted. "I am his magical guardian."

"So you've said," G acknowledged. "But I'm an investigator, trained to look for evidence and facts. A mere assertion isn't evidence, much less a fact."

"I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," the gray-bearded wizard said haughtily. "Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Who are you to challenge my claim?"

"G Callen," G answered easily. "United States Naval Criminal Investigative Service agent. More pertinently, ICW-Licensed Hit Wizard, and specially appointed Crown Prosecutor - which means that I have authority over you in any of your positions with regards to my investigation. So again, please show me the documents that appoint you Harry Potter's magical guardian."

"I don't have them with me."

"Then you don't get to see Harry Potter," G declared, his tone final. "And before you think about forcing your way past me, I am authorized to use whatever force is necessary to ensure Harry Potter's safety."

"I would never hurt Harry!"

"That's a lie," G murmured, deliberately loud enough for Dumbledore to hear, but quietly enough that he could claim he was talking to himself if he were challenged. Aloud, he said, "Then you shouldn't object to showing me your appointment papers. I understand if you need to go back to your home or office to get them. I'm happy to wait here until you return."

Dumbledore's expression shifted to calculation. "What's to stop me from going up to see him anyway?"

"Assuming you manage to get past me? Nothing," G admitted. "At least, nothing until you got to his room, where the security precautions are … impressive."

Those precautions included Sam and Michelle Hanna, quickly summoned from their home in Los Angeles and a visit to London respectively and deputized as agents of the ICW, as well as a few other ICW agents who would be less than impressed by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. And all that before he encountered Hetty herself.

"I demand to see him."

"Are you asking to see him as headmaster of his school - which is very kind of you, but his healers are only allowing his guardian to be with him while they are still working on him," G said. "Or are you asking in one of your official capacities?"

Something flickered in Dumbledore's eyes, and he smiled, briefly. "Actually, as the Supreme Mugwump, I am ordering you to let me see Harry Potter, _Hit Wizard_."

"Well." G leaned back against the door that led to the patient rooms. "Under other circumstances, I'd be pleased to follow your order, Supreme Mugwump, but the appointment as the Queen's Crown Prosecutor prevents me from following any orders that conflict with Her Majesty's. My direct superiors are aware of this and have agreed to the restriction."

Dumbledore's smile had faded into a scowl as G spoke, and for a moment, G thought the old man might draw his wand in a hospital.

Then the door behind him opened, and he shifted aside, his magic already telling him that Hetty was joining them. She came fully into the reception area, and G resumed his place, though this time he stood straight, ready for any attack.

He knew that Hetty plus tequila plus mechanical bull equaled a bar fight, but he had no idea what mother-mode Hetty plus arrogant bastard plus injured child might lead to. He'd be ready for anything.

"Headmaster." Hetty stopped and looked up at him.

G had to smile, just a little. _There's Edna Mode facing down Gandalf and I can't even take a picture. Dammit._

"What are you doing here?" Dumbledore demanded. G frowned at that, then remembered that, no, he and Hetty hadn't explained the purpose of their visit to him before Quirrell rushed into the Great Hall.

"I'm Harry's godmother and guardian. Where else would or, really, _should_ I be?"

Dumbledore looked down at her with an indulgent smile. "I feel I must correct you on one point. I am Harry's magical guardian, and his maternal aunt and uncle are his physical guardians."

"Actually," G said, "you still haven't presented the papers proving either of those - which papers I've asked for repeatedly."

"You certainly can't expect me to carry those papers around," Dumbledore said.

"I said I didn't. But besides the fact that you could go and get them," G agreed, "when you're asking to visit a minor child in the hospital when said child is not biologically yours, it would be good planning to have them with you. "

"It has never been necessary before," Dumbledore said, which made G wonder whether Dumbledore was referring to seeing Harry or to some unknown number of other children of whom he'd claimed to be their magical guardian.

"Perhaps we should discuss this in a more private location?" Hetty offered, though her tone made it more of an order than a suggestion.

"I am not leaving without seeing Harry," Dumbledore declared.

"Then I suggest you conjure a bed and some food," Hetty said, her tone colder than the Antarctic winter. "Considering how Harry was treated at the house _you_ abandoned him to, I will never grant permission for you to be alone with him ever again. I am reluctant even to allow him to return to Hogwarts, but that will be his decision when he wakes up."

"Now, see here -" Dumbledore took a step forward.

"If you draw your wand on her, I'll kill you," G said pleasantly. "And from the looks of it, some of the people here might help."

Dumbledore yanked his gaze away from Hetty to glance around the waiting room. A double handful of people waited in twos and threes, and a few of them wore expressions ranging from disturbed to thunderous.

Dumbledore's own expression returned to its usual serene cast. "Perhaps you're right - we should discuss this in private."

"Mm. That option has expired," Hetty said. She reached into the messenger bag she carried and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "These contain all you need to know."

Dumbledore's expression changed so much as he flipped through the paperwork that G could guess which document he was looking at by the look on his face.

Confused frown - the forms Petunia Dursley signed to relinquish custody.

Calculated narrowing of the eyes - the order from British Wizarding Child and Family Courts awarding custody to Henrietta Lange and her heirs, G Callen and Penelope Jones.

Outright shock at the final paper - a proclamation signed by Her Majesty the Queen concerning the health, welfare, and custody of Henry James "Harry" Potter.

It was that last that made Dumbledore stare. "You spoke to the Muggle Queen about Harry Potter?"

"I believe her proper title is, Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, with no distinction between magical and non-magical realms," Hetty said. "But yes, the subject did come up when we had tea, and after hearing just some of the details of Harry's case, she decided to exercise her _parens patrie_ duty … rather forcefully."

G wished he had his cell phone out. Nell, Sam and Michelle would no doubt laugh their asses off if they could see Dumbledore's expression.

"If you don't agree with Her Majesty," Hetty concluded, "I suggest you take it up with her personally. In the meantime, I'll thank you to let my godson recover from his ordeal in peace."

Then she turned away from him to address G directly. "Now, Mr. Callen - I believe you'd like to be present when he wakes?"

G nodded and, with a last glare at Dumbledore, followed Hetty deeper into the hospital, surreptitiously casting an anti-Dumbledore ward as he went.

* | *

For some indeterminable time, all Harry knew was darkness and silence. It was, he thought, peaceful in a way he'd never known before, and he thought he could stay like that forever.

Forever turned out to be boring, and eventually Harry tried to focus on _something_ \- anything other than the dark silence surrounding him.

Sound came first.

"He's so small," an unfamiliar female voice said.

"Abuse?" asked an unfamiliar male.

"Mostly neglect, some abuse." That voice he recognized as Callen's. "The healers are working on a treatment plan."

"Good," the woman said. "He's older than Kamran but looks so much younger."

Then Harry was lost in the silent darkness again, unaware of how much time passed before he surfaced again.

"Don't you dare die on me, Harry Potter!" Hermione's words would, Harry knew, have been accompanied by a shake to his arm if he'd been conscious. "Not after saving me from that troll. You don't get to die yet!"

Again, he fell into darkness.

"You didn't have to come, Nell," Callen said, and a part of Harry's awareness wondered who Nell was.

"He's Hetty's godson, and ours, too," a woman - Nell, Harry assumed - replied. "Of course I had to come. What's his prognosis?"

"Guardedly optimistic," Callen said. "He's still alive, so that's good. It would be better if he'd wake up."

There was a long, shuddery breath. "I know you've tried everything, or at least contacted people who've tried everything. I'll pray for him tonight."

Whatever else Nell might have said faded from his awareness. He thought it might have been a shorter time before he surfaced again.

"Really, Mr. Callen?" There was no mistaking Hetty's voice, however disbelieving she sounded. "A cutting curse _before_ the stunner?"

"Of course," Callen answered reasonably. "If he'd had a portkey on him set to go off if he were stunned, he'd at least be missing his wand arm, and you know as well as I do that most wizards can't cast spells worth a damn without their wands. Besides, aren't you the one who says there's no such thing as overkill?"

That made Harry laugh. For a moment, the silence returned, but then it was broken by the rustle of fabric.

"Harry?" Hetty asked. "Are you awake?"

Harry considered the question, and how he felt - and that he could now tell there was light beyond his eyelids. "…Maybe?"

Callen snorted a laugh. "How about you open your eyes so you know for certain?"

That made a lot of sense, so Harry did, slowly because his lids were so heavy he could barely lift them.

"Welcome back," Hetty said, and Harry tried to turn his head to face her. It was easier than opening his eyes, but not by much.

"What -?" Harry started to ask, but the door to the room opened and a woman who reminded him strongly of Madam Hooch wearing a lime green robe came in. That prompted him to change his question to, "Who are you?"

"Healer Quinn, Mr. Potter," she replied. "Good to see you're awake. I'll need to cast some diagnostic spells on you."

Harry looked at Hetty, who nodded, and then said, "Okay."

Healer Quinn was quick and deft with her wand movements and cast her spells silently. Harry promised himself he'd learn how to cast silently, someday.

"Excellent," Healer Quinn murmured. She offered him a professional smile. "Your readings are near the baseline we have from Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts. Another day, perhaps two, and I believe you'll be completely healed."

Harry just nodded, and the healer turned to leave. Before she made it to the door, he said, "Is - is it - can I spend the rest of my recovery at Hogwarts? Where my friends are?"

Healer Quinn paused with the door partly open and looked back at him with a grave but kind expression. "While it may be medically possible, that's a decision for your guardian to make."

Then she was gone and Harry was alone with Callen and Hetty. He drew a breath. "Hetty? Can I go back to Hogwarts?"

"Until yesterday, I would have agreed without a thought," Hetty said. "As much as I dislike your headmaster, I had no objection to you attending his school. But then - a troll got into the school."

"He didn't _get_ in. Professor Quirrell _let_ him in," Harry protested.

"Ah, yes - Professor Quirrell, who also got into the school, despite being possessed by the shade of Voldemort. And that on top of the idiotic plan to lure Voldemort to a school full of _children_ in the hope - the _hope_ , mind you - of capturing him there. And a series of traps that were rather easily beaten by three first-year students."

Harry's cheeks warmed. "When you put it like that, it sounds … kinda bad."

"It's much worse than merely _bad_ ," Hetty said, scowling. "I had intended to let you finish the school year before transferring you to the States, but now I have doubts about your safety at Hogwarts."

Harry swallowed, hard. He wanted to protest, but he couldn't argue with her reasoning. _She's like an adult Hermione, only fiercer._

"I know it will be hard, changing everything mid-semester," Hetty continued, "but I can't allow you to remain in such a dangerous place any longer than necessary."

"I … I get it," Harry said. But he didn't have to like it. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to forestall the tears he knew were coming. He'd just started to make real friends, and he was going to have to leave them.

"I have a suggestion." The voice made Harry's eyes fly open, and he stared at Callen, his emotions switching back and forth between anticipation and dread.

"What would that be, Mr. Callen?"

"Harry stays at Hogwarts until the Christmas break," Callen said. "It'll be less difficult to transfer him then, and he'll have a chance to say goodbye to his friends."

"And his safety until then?" Hetty's tone reflected her skepticism, but at the same time, allowed Harry a bit of hope.

"Hogwarts needs a new Defense against the Dark Arts instructor. Pretty sure I'm qualified for the job," Callen said wryly, and now Harry could only open his eyes to stare, wide-eyed, at the man.

"Mr. Callen -"

"It's just a suggestion," Callen replied. "And I think we should ask Harry what he wants to do. Not," he added directly to Harry, "that that means we'll do it, but we should at least discuss it."

"An excellent point, Mr. Callen," Hetty agreed and shifted her gaze back to Harry. "With the understanding that I don't want to leave you at Hogwarts long-term - what would you like to do?"

Harry blinked. Again. A third time.

"What is it, Harry?" Hetty asked gently.

"I just - I don't think anyone's asked me what I would like to do before."

After a silence that stretched just a little too long, Callen cleared his throat. "I got this, Hetty."

Hetty and Callen exchanged a look that Harry didn't understand. Then Hetty rose. "That might be best. I believe I will go and see if magical hospital cafeterias have better food than non-magical ones. At the very least, I might be able to get a decent cuppa."

Hetty closed the door behind her when she left, and to Harry's surprise, Callen didn't sit in the chair she'd vacated, but rather on the bed, angled so they faced each other.

When he spoke, it wasn't anything Harry could've expected. "Do you know what foster care is?"

Harry nodded. "It's where kids who don't have parents, or anybody else to look after them, go. Uncle Vernon threatened to turn me over to them a lot."

Callen frowned, but all he said was, "I was in thirty-seven foster homes between the time I was five and when I turned eighteen."

"That's - a lot," Harry said finally.

"Yeah. Some were good. Some - really weren't." Callen shook his head. "Point is - I kind of get where you're coming from, the fear that this isn't real, that you'll wake up and it's a dream."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, that's it exactly. I like Hogwarts, and the whole magical world - and I don't want to give it up," he added quietly.

Callen stared at him - actually _stared_ at him. Harry hadn't known people did that. "Is that what you think?"

"I don't know _what_ to think! Nobody's told me anything important!"

"Oh." Callen blew out a breath. "I'm sorry, Harry. I let Hetty take the lead because she's my boss. I forgot how determined she can be."

"That's one way of putting it," Harry said.

"So, let me make it up to you, a little - I'll tell you what we've been planning, and then you can think it over, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"You know there are magical schools in America, right?"

"Um - I … guess?"

Callen chuckled. "How about we get you something to eat, and I'll tell you all about them."


	9. Chapter 9

Hetty was sipping from a cup presumably full of tea when G joined her in the cafeteria at St. Mungo's. Whether the tea was any good or not, G saw that at least they'd used a proper china service.

"What's the verdict?" He slid into a chair opposite her and poured himself a cup.

"The tea is, of course, quite good," Hetty replied. "But the _sandwiches..._ " She broke off, shaking her head.

"What's wrong with sandwiches? I thought sandwiches were part of having tea?"

"Cucumber, watercress, smoked salmon - these are traditional tea sandwiches," Hetty said. "All neatly trimmed of crusts, of course."

"Of course," G agreed.

"But what they have here?" She sat forward in her chair. "They have cheese sandwiches. They have ham sandwiches. Cheese and tomato sandwiches. Ham and tomato sandwiches. It's an abomination."

G frowned. "Those all sound like perfectly reasonable choices to me."

"They are. It's what they're missing that's the abomination."

G raised one eyebrow in her direction. "And that would be -?"

"Ham, cheese, and tomato sandwiches."

There was, G decided, no reasonable answer to that. Instead, he took a sip of tea.

"But enough about English cuisine, such as it is," Hetty said. "How was your chat with Harry?"

"Good," G answered. "Once he understood that he wasn't losing access to the magical world, he was a lot happier about the whole thing."

Hetty's eyes widened. "Oh. Oh, dear. I did forget to mention that part."

"To be fair, it's been a busy few days," G said. "Even an emotionally draining few days."

"Still - this is all about Harry, and I neglected to consider him." But Hetty wasn't one for public self-recrimination. "What does he want?"

"To stay here with his friends the whole time. But he understands our concerns about safety, so he said he wants to stay until Christmas," G said. "Mostly because it'll be easier for you to handle his transfer arrangements. But he has realized that Hogwarts may not be the best place for him, even if Voldemort is dead."

Something in his voice must've given him away, because Hetty said, "But you don't think he is? Dead, I mean?"

"Quirrell, and the shade he's hosting, are dead - or will be, soon enough," G said. "But I don't know enough about how Voldemort survived to possess Quirrell in the first place to be confident that he's dead now. And there's the question of why Harry's scar hurt whenever he made eye contact with Quirrell."

Hetty took another sip of her tea before carefully replacing the cup on the saucer. "Well, a little paranoia is a healthy thing. But if Harry is staying here, then -"

"I am, too," G agreed. "Dumbledore may not like it, but he can't deny I'm qualified for the post."

* | *

As it turned out, Harry was released from St. Mungo's the next day. Callen returned him to Hogwarts but before he left Harry, he offered him a small silver-colored disk.

"It's a U.S. dollar coin," Callen told him. "If you touch it and say my name, I'll apparate to you immediately. Don't do that unless it's an emergency."

Harry frowned. "What's _apparate_?"

Callen blinked, then blew out a breath. "Right, new to magic. Apparition is like teleportation."

"We can _teleport_?" Harry didn't even care that his voice squeaked on the last word.

"Not until you're an adult and licensed," Callen said. "But yes."

Callen broke away from him then to approach Professor McGonagall, and Harry slid the coin into the pocket of his trousers as he made his way to the Great Hall in time for lunch.

"Harry!"

He barely had time to brace himself before Hermione plowed into him, hugging him tight.

He hugged her back, and then Ron was with them, slapping his back and saying, "Welcome back, Harry!"

Now, two days later, he was walking with Ron and Hermione toward the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Tell me about this Callen bloke," Ron was saying. "You think he'll be any good as a teacher?"

Harry considered the question carefully. "I don't know how he'll be as a teacher, but I know he's a soldier. No, a warrior."

"What's the difference?" Ron asked.

"A soldier is a fighter by profession," Hermione said immediately. "A warrior fights for what's right. The two are not mutually exclusive, of course."

"Very good, Ms. Granger," Callen said from the classroom doorway. "That would be five points to Gryffindor, I think?"

Harry nudged Hermione with his shoulder to catch her attention, then smiled at her in congratulations. She smiled back, but quickly returned her attention to Callen - who was looking over their heads, down the corridor beyond them.

After a moment, he stepped back, allowing Harry and the others to enter.

_What was he looking for? Or at?_ Harry amended silently. He pondered that, even as he made his way to a seat beside Ron.

At precisely noon, the door closed, and Callen spoke from his position in front of the class.

"Good afternoon," he said. "And it is afternoon, if only by a few seconds."

Harry chuckled, and so did a few other students. Hermione's, though, was the only one besides his that actually sounded amused.

"Okay, then," Callen continued. "I'm G Callen, hit wizard for the ICW, formerly with the United States FBMI, currently with the United States Naval Criminal Investigative Service, and I'll be your DADA instructor until the Christmas break."

There was a murmur of conversation, interrupted by the opening of the classroom door.

Harry sneaked a glance over his shoulder to see Crabbe and Goyle slipping into the room. Malfoy, of course, was already seated.

"Gentlemen," Callen said, and Harry bit back a smirk when Crabbe and Goyle stopped in their tracks. "This is your first and only warning. Be on time to my class or lose points. A sufficient number of violations will result in detention, and trust me, you do _not_ want detention with me."

Harry bit back a satisfied grin as Crabbe and Goyle muttered, "yes, professor," and found their way to seats.

"All right," Callen said when Crabbe and Goyle were seated. "I assume that your former _professor_ didn't start with the basics, so I will. First, situational awareness. Does anyone know what that means?"

Harry snuck a glance around the classroom, surprised when even Hermione's hand stayed down.

Callen looked amused. "Try it another way. What does the word _situational_ mean?"

This time Hermione's hand went up, and Callen nodded to her. "It relates to a set of circumstances."

"True, as far as it goes. Think about it in context of defending your-"

A small cry interrupted him, and Callen's gaze flicked across the classroom. "What happened?"

"Stinging hex," a girl replied, and when Harry twisted in his seat, he could see Sophie Roper holding a hand to her face.

Callen made his way toward her, and Harry barely heard him whisper, " _Accio_ wand that just cast a stinging hex."

A moment later, Harry heard a small _slap_ of wood hitting flesh, just as Callen reached Sophie's side.

"Let me have a look at that, please?" Callen waited for her to nod, then gently tilted her head to one side and ran his fingertips apparently very lightly over her cheek. Even from this angle, Harry could see the redness and swelling. "Can you feel that?"

When Sophie nodded, he took a step back. "After class, go to the nurse's office and have her check it over. I don't think there's any nerve damage, but it's best to check."

Callen returned to the front of the room, and though he looked closely, Harry couldn't see the wand he'd summoned.

"It looks like we'll be starting with something even more basic," he said, and where he'd been professionally friendly before, now his expression was severe enough that several of the students Harry saw were squirming in their seats.

"For the rest of the class you will write your answers to three questions. No more than a page for each question. Yes?"

"Um - Professor?" Neville's voice was almost too soft to be heard. "What's a page?"

Callen blinked. "A page? A sheet of paper? You don't know that?"

"We use parchment scrolls, sir," Neville said.

For a brief moment, pure confusion replaced Callen's stern expression - but only for a moment. "How are your essays assigned?"

"Number of inches," Hermione replied.

"Fine. No more than ten inches per question. The questions are: Is shooting a stinging hex at someone, unprovoked, morally correct? Is it ethically correct? How many points should be awarded or taken from the student who hexed Ms. Roper? Defend your answers, but don't put your names on your papers - parchments."

"But - how will you know who to give credit to?" Hermione asked, and Harry could almost feel her anxiety.

Callen quirked an eyebrow at her. "I am capable of counting the essays turned in and comparing the result to the number of students."

If Professor Snape had said that, it would have been delivered in a derogatory, insulting manner, Harry knew. But Callen made it just an observation. Still, Hermione blushed a little at his answer.

"Besides," Callen continued, "I'm more interested in where the class as a whole stands on this issue, so be honest, no matter what your answers are. To encourage you to be honest, I'll shuffle the parchments so I can't tell which one comes from which student, and I'll convert your handwriting so it looks like it was printed in a book. You'll be as anonymous as I know how to make you."

Harry pulled out parchment and a quill and started to write. The responses to the first two questions were easy - _no_ to both of them - but the third was more challenging than he'd expected. Still, he could only try to order his thoughts and get them down in some semblance of rationality before Callen called -

"Time. Put your parchments on your desks, face down."

When all the parchments were on the desks, Callen said, " _Mutatio,_ " then waved a hand. All the parchments shot up into the air and spun madly around each other before settling into a pile on Callen's desk.

Then Callen let his gaze rest on each student in turn, not longer than a second each, and when he'd met the eyes of every student in the room, he said, "The student who hexed Ms. Roper can see me about his or her wand before dinner. You have a coin in your robe pocket that, when you touch it and say _I hexed Sophie Roper_ , will render you invisible for the trip to my office. Class dismissed."

Harry hung back with Ron and Hermione as they made their way to History of Magic.

Surprisingly, it was Ron who asked, "How did he know who did it?"

"Situational awareness," Harry replied. "It means being aware of your surroundings at all times." He'd gotten really good at it while living with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, even if he hadn't known the term before today.

"And how did he get the wand?" Ron asked.

"He summoned it, of course," Hermione said.

"Well, yeah, but how did he know which wand?"

"I heard him say it," Harry said. "He identified it as the wand that just cast a stinging hex."

"That's interesting," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I didn't know you could be that, well, general."

"Sounds pretty specific to me," Harry countered.

"Well," Hermione gave a shrug, "I would've understood _Accio Hermione Granger's wand_ , or whoever, but just the wand that cast a spell?"

"No, the other way round. He summoned the wand that _just_ cast the spell," Ron said, sounding excited. "I get it - there were twenty-some wands in the class, but only one of them had _just_ cast that particular spell."

Harry risked a glance at Hermione and saw she was smiling ever so slightly. She looked up and her smile widened. Harry could only return the smile as they reached the History of Magic classroom and made their way to their seats.

* | *

G was reading the fourth essay when the door to his classroom opened, then closed. A moment later a blonde-haired boy with a pale, pointed face appeared in front of him.

"I want my wand back," the boy, who G knew to be Draco Malfoy, said, and the imperial tone made G sit back in his chair and study the kid before he answered.

"I'm sure you do," G said finally, after he'd stayed silent long enough for Malfoy to fidget, however slightly. "Why should I give it back to you?"

Malfoy's mouth actually dropped open. "What do you mean, _why_? It's mine!"

"It's also evidence in a criminal investigation."

"Criminal investigation?" Now Malfoy looked at him as if he were insane. "It was a prank!"

"It was an unprovoked attack on a fellow student that could have resulted in permanent nerve damage," G said.

"It was just a stinging hex!"

"That hit very close to her eye. If it had hit her eye directly, you could've blinded her."

Malfoy scoffed. "As if. People cast stinging hexes at each other all the time with no harm done."

"Why her?" G asked. "Why Sophie Roper?"

Malfoy shrugged. "She was there."

"So were a dozen other students," G said, calling on all of his undercover training and experience to keep his tone mild. "What made you pick her?"

"I don't know there was any particular reason -"

"I see." G sat forward in his chair. "You'll get your wand back when you can explain your reason for choosing her, and after you apologize."

"Apologize? To a half-blood?"

G frowned. "A what?"

"Half-blood," Malfoy sneered. "Not pure-blood, not mudblood."

"What's mudblood?"

"Don't you know _anything?_ " Malfoy said. "Mudblood - muggle parents."

"Huh," G said. "I guess it's true - you learn something new every day." He focused a glare on Draco Malfoy. "Here's a hint, Mr. Malfoy - nobody cares about that kind of thing in the States, or most of the rest of the world, for that matter. The question is whether you're a good person. Good people apologize when they've done something wrong."

"I'm not apologizing to a half-blood."

"Then you're not getting your wand back," G said. "I'll speak to the other professors and explain the situation."

Malfoy flushed. "When my father hears about this -"

G couldn't help it. He laughed aloud - and brought it under control as quickly as he could. "I'm sorry, but you do realize that you're being disciplined for being a bully, don't you? Calling someone else to try to bully me on your behalf is not the smartest thing you could do."

"My father's on the Hogwarts Board of Governors."

G lost whatever humor he'd had. "Then you can tell him if he wants to address this situation, I'll be happy to do so before the _entire_ board."

Malfoy blinked, apparently surprised, but G couldn't guess what had surprised him. After a moment, Malfoy sneered at him, but said, "I'll tell him. For all the good it'll do you."

G nodded once, then held out a hand. "I'll enchant the coin for your return trip."

Malfoy scowled at him but handed the coin over without comment. A wave of G's hand and a few murmured words reset the spell.

He handed Malfoy the coin back and watched as the door opened and closed again before blowing out a breath and knuckling his eyes.

Teaching wasn't so bad, but holy _crap_ the prejudices and ignorance of the students could barely be believed. It was, G supposed, somewhat like visiting a living history museum, except the people weren't actors recreating a time long past.

_Guess I'll have to bring them into the current century._

* | *

G wasn't surprised to be called into the headmaster's office the next morning, nor that McGonagall was also present. What did surprise him was the presence of another man. A quick but thorough examination suggested that, given the similar pale features and blond hair, this was Draco Malfoy's father.

"Headmaster, Professor," G nodded greetings to them, then stood at parade rest.

"Professor Callen," Dumbledore said. "May I introduce Lucius Malfoy, chairman of Hogwarts' Board of Governors, and Draco Malfoy's father."

"Mr. Malfoy," G said. "Are you here today as a father or as the chairman?"

"Both, of course," Malfoy replied.

"I requested a review before the entire board," G said. "Which is allowed under the Hogwarts charter." Which he knew thanks to Nell Jones.

"Unfortunately," Dumbledore said, "the Board is not scheduled to meet until after the New Year."

After G would be gone, though he wasn't certain whether Malfoy knew that or not. Still, G shot him a disbelieving look. "Am I to understand that you want to abrogate my right to a hearing before the entire board out of convenience?"

"You stole my son's wand," Malfoy snapped before Dumbledore could reply.

"Speaking to his father - no, I didn't. I confiscated it because he attacked another student with it. I told him the condition for getting it back, and he refused."

"If I may - what condition did you place on the wand's return?" McGonagall asked.

"An apology to the student he hexed."

"That seems more than reasonable," McGonagall said.

"I quite agree," Dumbledore added. "Since the fate of young Mr. Malfoy's wand is in his own hands, I fail to see what the problem is."

"It's ridiculous that my son should be forced to apologize for a prank," Lucius declared.

"A _prank_ that hurt her - you do know that's what the stinging hex does, right? - and could have blinded her, if it had hit her in the eye. As it was," G added, "it hit high on the cheekbone less than two centimeters from her eye."

"Professor Callen," Dumbledore began, smiling kindly, "This sounds like a misunderstanding, that's all. Such pranks are common."

"In that case," G said, "I can hit all three of you with stinging hexes, and it's just a prank?"

He raised his hand as though to cast the spell, and Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

"You have no wand," Malfoy said.

"You have good eyesight." And just like that, G decided his first target. " _Pungens._ "

Malfoy reacted faster than G expected, raising his walking stick and snapping out, " _Protego!_ "

The shield didn't come up quite fast enough, though, and the hex caught Malfoy's jaw, which swelled almost immediately.

"How dare you attack me!" Malfoy snarled.

G put on his most innocent expression. "You said it was just a prank."

"Professor Callen raises a good point," Dumbledore put in before Malfoy could say anything more. "You first said that spell is a prank. Now you say it's an attack. Which is it, Mr. Malfoy?"

Lucius Malfoy was far more subtle than his son, but it was still easy for G to read the play of emotions on the man's face as he realized he'd argued himself into a corner.

"More than a prank, less than an attack," Malfoy said finally, and G was almost impressed by the middle-of-the-road tactic the man had chosen. "While it can in certain circumstances cause damage, it generally is no more dangerous than the tickling charm."

G didn't completely agree with that, but he was dealing with Malfoy as a parent now. He could deal with the Board of Governors later. If he was still here.

"How do you suggest we proceed?" Dumbledore asked.

Clearly, the question was directed to Malfoy, but when the other man seemed to flounder, G spoke.

"I'd planned the next class to be one on ethics," he said. "Or, more generally, respectful behavior, with a refresher on the Hogwarts Code of Conduct."

McGonagall frowned. "Code of Conduct? What do you mean?"

Not even all his years as an undercover operative could keep G from showing surprise at that. "Code of Conduct - a list of standards of behavior that students and staff are expected to follow while in school. Maybe you call it something else?"

McGonagall and Dumbledore glanced at each other, then at Malfoy, and Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"I don't believe Hogwarts has ever had such a thing. What is included in a Code of Conduct?"

Shoving aside his complete bafflement that a school like Hogwarts wouldn't have one, G said, "Typically, things like don't cheat on exams, be civil to everyone, don't hit other students, follow the dress code, show up to class on time, don't damage the school. All in more formal language."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," McGonagall said. "We will begin preparing one immediately. However, we still have to find a resolution to the current situation."

Malfoy seemed to shake himself free of some musing. "I will instruct Draco to apologize. Will you require a public apology?"

"No," G said. "I haven't told anyone he did it, and I don't intend to - other than the girl he hexed, of course."

"Of course," Malfoy said, though it was less agreement than insult, somehow. "Before dinner tonight?"

"I'll let her know. As soon as Draco apologizes, I'll return his wand," G said. "And the next class will still be about ethics, as a precautionary nature. I won't single Draco - or any other student - out in any way."

"That is acceptable," Malfoy bit out. "Headmaster. Professors."

With a regal incline of his head, Malfoy turned and strode from the room.

When G looked back to Dumbledore, the man's eyes were twinkling. "Congratulations, Professor Callen. I do believe that's the first time anyone's ever gotten the best of Lucius Malfoy."

"That's a shame," G said without thinking. When he opened his mouth to apologize, McGonagall waved it away.

"You didn't say anything we haven't thought many times," she said. Then, "Do you have any idea how to go about creating a code of conduct?"


	10. Chapter 10

Once he was safely in his quarters, G pulled out his cell phone. He'd been told that electronics wouldn't work inside Hogwarts, and he needed to test that assertion as far as possible. Thanks to Eric Beale's creative insulation, G's phone hadn't stopped working completely - as evidenced by his encounter with Quirrell - but he hadn't actively tried to call anyone or to access the internet via his phone.

He needed to know whether his phone would work in the event of another emergency, and there was only one way to find out. He opened up his contact list and his thumb hovered over Sam Hanna's entry. It made sense to combine the test call with a request he'd have to make anyway.

Instead, he touched the icon to dial Nell Jones.

G barely had time to register his surprise, not just that he'd called Nell instead of Sam but also that the call had gone through and was ringing in his ear, before she answered.

"Callen? How are things across the Pond?"

G had to laugh, however weakly. "I don't even know how to answer that, Nell."

Though they weren't on a video call, G could still see the crease in her forehead when she frowned in concentration. "I wouldn't have thought it was a difficult question."

"I wouldn't have, either," G admitted. "Not even after the troll. But the students here - yesterday a kid cast a stinging hex at someone's eye."

"But - nerve damage - blindness -?"

"Didn't seem to bother him. It bothered him more that I wanted him to apologize to the student he hexed."

There was a long silence before, "You're joking."

"I wish I were. I made all the kids answer a couple of questions about the ethics and morality of that incident, and some of them are … ugly." G blew out a breath. "After reading those, I'm completely unsurprised that Britain's had more dark lord wannabes in the last hundred years than the rest of the world put together in the last three hundred."

"How do you get there from one kid not wanting to apologize?" Nell sounded puzzled - but then, she sometimes did when she was thinking about people rather than information.

"The other data point I haven't mentioned yet," G said. "The reason he didn't want to apologize to her is that she's a half-blood."

"A what?"

"That's what I said," G told her with a chuckle. "And got a lesson on blood … types? It matters whether both of your parents were magical or not over here."

"I … see. No, I don't see. Why does that matter?"

"The same reason it mattered whether someone's parents weren't both white in the antebellum South. Bigotry, prejudice, a need to feel superior to others."

"So … how long before you're back, again?" _And Harry's out of there_ went unsaid.

"Christmas," G said.

"It won't come soon enough," Nell declared. "What do you need?"

"Huh?"

"You didn't call me just to complain about some bigoted students, did you?"

G laughed. "Not _just_ \- it was a test, actually. People told me that electronics don't work in Hogwarts because of the magic."

"That we're having this conversation tells me they do."

"At least when insulated by Eric Beale," G agreed.

"He'll be happy when I tell him. Anything else?"

"That's it. Thanks," he added. "For everything you're doing for Harry." _And for me._

"You'll have to give me all the details."

"Details about what?"

"Trolls, a possessed teacher, Cerberuses, and all the other holy-crap-you-can't-be-serious happenings at Hogwarts."

G laughed at her description. "I will, promise. But right now, I need to call Sam."

"He's holding the team together really well."

"No surprise - he did it when I was recovering. But it's about that kid and the stinging hex."

"Huh. Okay."

"I'm sure he'll tell you later."

"Probably. Good night, Callen."

"G'night." Which wasn't entirely correct since it was morning in Los Angeles, but G decided it was close enough.

He ended the call, then dialed a number he knew better than his own.

"'Sup, G?" The even, almost Zen-like, voice of G's partner, Sam Hanna, came undistorted through the phone. G let himself relax back into his chair.

"Morning, Sam. Need a favor."

"You need a favor from a quarter of the way around the world?"

"Can you shoot me a copy of the code of conduct from Aiden's school?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Seems that Hogwarts doesn't have anything similar," G said easily.

"And you're gonna implement it?"

"Force their board of governors to implement it."

"You do remember that it's Keating Magical and Military Academy, right? Their code's more strict than most."

"From what I've seen here, they could use a little more strict."

"Huh." Sam was quiet for a moment. Then, "Think Hetty'll let me see it in the pensieve?"

"I think I'll hold off showing her until I can show all of you."

Sam laughed. "How soon do you need it?"

"Sooner than later. They've got a real problem with ethics over here."

"Not a problem. How's it going over there - other than the problem with ethics?"

"Weird," G said, and proceeded to fill his partner in on everything that had happened since he'd arrived at Hogwarts.

"Damn, G."

"Yeah. We just have to make it through December, and then we'll bring him home."

"Not his home," Sam countered. "Not yet."

A thought occurred to G. "Aiden gets time off at Thanksgiving, right?"

"Four-day weekend. Why?"

"If you want to portkey here that weekend, it would be a chance for all of you to meet and start to get to know each other."

"I thought Hogwarts was very strict about letting students off campus before their third year."

"They are. But when a professor - or guardian - accompanies them, it's a whole other kettle of fish. Still, the earliest we can get out is Friday dinner."

"Where?"

"Find a place in Edinburgh or Glasgow and let me know," G replied.

"You drive a hard bargain, G."

"Stay through Monday, and Aiden and Kamran can see what magical schools are like on this side of the Pond."

"Twist my arm," Sam grumbled, but G knew his heart wasn't in it. "Michelle will text you the details."

"See you then," G said, and ended the call.

Now, he just needed to make arrangements for Thanksgiving weekend.

* | *

Harry didn't know what he'd expected when he got to Callen's next Defense against the Dark Arts class, but it certainly wasn't Callen approaching the table where he sat with Hermione.

"May I borrow one of your wands?" he asked.

Beside him, Hermione hesitated, but Harry had started to trust Callen, at least a little, since Callen actually treated him like he had more intelligence than a garden snake. He pulled his wand from his pocket and offered it to Callen.

"Thanks." Callen took it back to the front of the class, where he held it before him horizontally, holding it with his thumb and forefinger just below the grip. "Does anyone know what this is?"

The room was silent, save for an uncomfortable rustling of robes as people shifted in their seats.

"Um," Hermione said finally - without bothering to raise her hand, which Harry was sure was a first for her, "it's a wand, Professor."

"Specifically, yes," Callen answered. "More generally? Mr. - Longbottom, is it?"

"It's - it's a magical focus, sir," Neville answered just barely loud enough for anyone to hear it.

"Technically correct," Callen said. After a moment, he appeared to relax, a little. "It's a bit of a trick question, because you're not used to thinking about things this way. This is a _weapon_."

Those simple words caused a whispered explosion. Callen held up his free hand and, after a moment, the class fell silent again.

"When I point this wand at you, Mr. Goyle," Callen suited action to words, only he pointed the grip toward Goyle, "what spell am I intending to cast?"

Goyle swallowed, and Harry had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at his fellow student's obvious unease.

"I - I d-don't know," he stammered.

"Exactly," Callen said. "I could be casting a healing spell, a tickling hex, or what you call an Unforgiveable. You have no way of knowing. Given that, what's the most appropriate response when you see someone pointing the business end of a wand at you?"

Hermione, of course, raised her hand, as did a couple of other students - including, Harry was surprised to note, Malfoy. Harry could think of one or two responses himself, but he chose to keep quiet so he could observe what Callen had actually meant.

"Miss Granger?" Callen prompted.

"Shield spell."

"Makes perfect sense. Five points to Gryffindor. Mr. Zabini?"

"Disarming spell."

"Good choice. Five points to Slytherin. Mr. Longbottom?"

"Summoning charm, like you did when Sophie got hexed."

"Five points to Gryffindor. Mr. Malfoy?"

"Reductor curse."

"Five points to Slytherin. Thank you for the loan, Mr. Potter." Callen offered Harry his wand, grip first, and Harry returned it to his pocket.

"Now." Callen sat on the edge of his desk, far more informal than any other professor Harry had. "Since you've just established that drawing a wand on a fellow student will likely end in a duel of some sort - what would you say is appropriate behavior with your wand?"

Harry's hand was in the air almost before he willed it.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Don't draw it unless you intend to use it," Harry said.

"Five points to Gryffindor." Callen paused a moment, letting his gaze travel across the classroom. It was an assessing gaze more than a condemning one, and Harry felt more comfortable with it than he did with any of his other professors.

"For my regular job, I carry a gun. Do you all know what a gun is?"

"Saw it on the telly," Harry said. The other muggle-born or muggle-raised students agreed, and a few of the other students did, too.

"It's a weapon, too," Callen explained for the others. "A very deadly one, just like a wand can be. We also carry wands at my regular job, and we treat them the same as we do guns, including the same basic safety rules. Yes, Mr. Weasley?"

"You don't use a wand."

"Not all cultures or traditions do," Callen said with an air of finality. "Back to safety rules. You should note these down."

Harry heard a flurry of activity as students grabbed quills and parchment. Thanks to Hermione beside him, he'd had his out and ready since the classroom door closed.

"It's not that long a list," Callen said. "First, all wands can always fire an offensive spell. Second, never point your wand at something - or someone - you aren't willing to destroy. Third, always be aware of what's behind your target - are you willing for _that_ to be destroyed, too? Fourth and finally, never cast a spell until you're sure of your target and your intent."

Harry dutifully copied down the rules, noting that they were nothing more than common sense. Then again, he mused, that seemed to be a trait sorely lacking in the magical world.

Beside him, Hermione raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Those American shows on the telly," she said. "They sometimes show people shoving a gun in their pocket or in the waistbands of their trousers. In light of the rules you just taught us, how safe would you say that is?"

Callen grinned at her, and Harry was surprised to see his bookish friend blushing a little. "Good question. The answer is, it depends."

"On what?" Hermione shot back.

"On whether or not they have a holster in their pocket or their waistband."

Which, Harry thought, made perfect sense. It also made him wonder … He raised his hand.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Do they make holsters for wands?" Harry asked.

"They do," Callen said, frowning. "You don't have one?"

Harry shook his head, and Callen looked up to the rest of the class. "Do any of you have one?"

A glance around the room showed Harry a sea of shaking heads and only one or two nods.

"Then how do you carry your wands?" Callen asked, his expression openly dumbfounded.

"In our pockets," Hermione answered immediately.

"My Gran has a holster," Neville said. "She said she got it as a gift when she turned seventeen."

Callen seemed to shake off his befuddlement. "Okay. It's not as weird as I first thought, because a wand isn't exactly like a gun - but I'd still suggest you all ask your parents for a wand holster for your birthday or Christmas, whichever comes first."

A glance over his shoulder told Harry that a lot of his classmates, including Hermione, were nodding to that suggestion, their expressions serious and earnest.

"That's it for today's lecture," Callen said. "For the rest of the class period, study those rules of safety and think about how they relate to ethical - or unethical - behavior. We will be observing them from now on, and any future incidents like the one with Miss Roper will be dealt with harshly - as in, detention will be the least of your concerns."

Hermione's hand shot up again, and Harry bit back a smile at her earnest expression.

"Miss Granger?"

"What about the essays we wrote in the last class?"

"You all got full credit, no matter your answers," Callen replied. "They were a baseline for me, more than anything else."

"So no comment, other than that?" Hermione prodded. This time, Harry was in full agreement with what he knew Ron had to be thinking: _Why can't she leave well enough alone?_

Callen looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he said, "Those of you who said _no_ to all the questions had more reasoned justifications for your stances. Those of you who said _yes_ to all of them fell back on clichés like, _it's tradition_ , or similar. There's nothing wrong with traditions in general," Callen added. "But if nobody did anything new or different, where would traditions come from?"


	11. Chapter 11

Harry's final class of the week - Potions - let out at 4:15, and he'd met Callen at 4:30 in the Great Hall. Five minutes later, they'd cleared the wards, and Callen had gripped his arm to side-along apparate to Edinburgh.

Now, Harry stared around the narrow Edinburgh street, taking in the shops and pubs whose signs and lights shone in the twilight of late evening. The restaurant where they would meet some American witches and wizards Callen knew was several blocks down the street.

Harry told himself not to be nervous, that he and Callen got on well enough, so there was every chance that he'd like Callen's friends, too.

Still, his stomach knotted in ways it didn't even before a Quidditch match, and the only thing he could think to do was ask questions.

"You said today's a holiday in America?"

"Yesterday, actually," Callen replied. "I guess technically today is, too, but today only became a holiday because Thanksgiving is always on Thursday, and so many people took the Friday after off that it was easier just to make Friday a holiday, too."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Probably not," Callen said with a wry grin. "It just seems that way."

Harry laughed at that. Then, because there were still two blocks to go, "What do you give thanks for?"

"Currently or historically?" Callen asked. Before Harry could answer, he continued, "Historically, the first Thanksgiving was a feast after the settlers' first successful harvest. Over time, it became a day of being thankful for what we have, for survival, family and friends. The day after, ironically and amusingly, is the gateway to the Christmas shopping season."

"American holidays are strange."

"Says the kid whose country celebrates an attempted regicide every year."

"No," Harry said patiently. "We celebrate a failed regicide."

"You call it a flat, we call it an apartment - it's still the same thing."

Harry couldn't argue that, and even if he'd wanted to, they'd arrived at the restaurant. Little Sicily appeared to have been squeezed between a bank and a travel agency as an afterthought. It had only ten tables, each covered in a red or yellow tablecloth. Empty wine bottles were lined up on a narrow shelf that ran around the entire restaurant, and oversize photos of - Harry assumed - places in Sicily hung on the walls.

A large black man with a shaved head waved at them from his seat at a table in the far corner of the restaurant. Harry looked up to see Callen nod an acknowledgment before he looked down to meet Harry's eyes.

"Ready?"

"…Maybe?"

Callen laughed. "They don't bite, I promise."

He gestured Harry ahead of him, and Harry made his way through the narrow spaces between tables toward his destination. Two black children, a boy about his own age and a girl several years younger, sat on either side of the man. A white woman with bright red hair cut just below her chin was also at the table, leaving two empty places.

The adults at the table stood as Harry and Callen approached. Harry moved to one side, as he would have if he were with his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. "Children should be seen and not heard - unless they're our Dudders" could have been their motto.

Callen greeted the woman first, with a nod. "You knocked Michelle out and stole her family?"

The woman gave a wry smile. "I couldn't - and I wouldn't even try."

"She hates portkeys," the man said. "Like really _hates_ them. Gets sick every single time. She said she'd rather not have her first meeting with Harry ruined because of car sickness."

"Portkeys aren't cars," Callen pointed out.

"You get to explain that to her," the man said. "Just tell me before you do - I want popcorn."

Callen just shook his head before gesturing Harry to come closer. "Harry, this lovely lady is Nell Jones, Hetty's adoptive heir, and your co-guardian."

"Call me Nell, Harry." Nell offered her hand and Harry shook it. "You look a lot better than the last time I saw you."

Harry frowned. "I don't remember meeting you before?"

"Well, you were unconscious at the time," Nell said. "After the whole possessed teacher thing. And wow, that sounds weird to say."

"My partner, Sam Hanna," Callen said, and the black man offered a hand that seemed only a little smaller than Hagrid's.

"Good to meet you, Harry. I'm Sam."

Harry bit his lower lip, thinking. Something about the man's voice sounded familiar. "Were you here, too - after Quirrell, I mean?"

"I was. My wife, Michelle, came, too."

Harry frowned again. "I thought she hated portkeys?"

"She was already in London," Sam told him. "She apparated from there. And these are our kids - Aiden and Kamran. This is Harry Potter."

"Hi," Aiden, the boy said. His sister tucked her head against him. "Sorry - she's shy at first."

"It's okay - Kamran, right?" Harry smiled at her. "I hope we can be friends." He looked back at Aiden when he said that, and the other boy nodded.

"Have a seat," Callen said, "so we can order."

Harry found himself sitting next to Aiden, and the next few minutes were spent looking at the menu. Harry found himself goggling at the dishes listed. They were nothing like he'd learned to make at Uncle Vernon's house. They all had exotic names, too, like _arancine_ , _caponata_ , _pasta alla Norma, pasta con le sarde,_ and _scacciata._

"Already put in double orders of _arancine_ and _nonna polpetti_ to start," Sam said.

"And I'm casting a _muffliato_ ," Callen said. Harry barely caught the movement of Callen's hand as he spoke the final word.

Callen had barely finished before Aiden turned to Harry. "So you go to a school that's all magic? What's that like?"

"Brilliant!" Harry replied immediately and launched into a description of Hogwarts and the people who worked there.

* | *

G judged the dinner a success when Kamran slid out of her chair and came to him to ask if he'd switch places with her so she could talk to Harry.

He'd made the switch without comment, so he was now sitting between Sam and Nell, and was pleased to see that Harry was as animated as he'd ever seen the boy - even when Harry was in the company of Hermione Granger or Ron Weasley.

"What else is on the agenda for this weekend, G?" Sam asked, smiling as Kamran tugged at Harry's sleeve in her excitement.

"Thought we might take them to Rosslyn Chapel," G said. "Or maybe Our Dynamic Earth. Harry didn't really travel - his aunt and uncle never took him with them when they did - so everything is new to him. And Aiden and Kamran should enjoy that, too."

"Well," Nell said, "I want to take him shopping. Have you seen how big his clothes are?"

"Pretty sure they're hand-me-downs from his cousin," G said. "I hadn't thought about it because his school uniforms fit, but you're right - he needs at least a couple of things that fit him properly."

"Can we do that tomorrow?" Nell asked. "Normally, I wouldn't dream of shopping anytime between the first of November and the first of January, but this is Scotland. Not that I know anywhere to shop in Edinburgh."

G caught Sam's grin from the corner of his eye - that was Nell, occasionally babbling but always brilliant. He fought down his own grin as he said, "How about London?"

At her blank stare, he added, "Do you know where to shop in London?"

"Of course."

"We can floo down there tomorrow," G suggested. "We should stop in at Gringotts and get us both added to Harry's accounts, make it official. His vault is in London," he added to Sam, "otherwise we'd do it here."

"But that means we'd be abandoning Sam and his kids," Nell said.

"Don't worry about it," Sam said. "Michelle made me promise to take them to one educational site they wouldn't have picked on their own. We can do that tomorrow morning, then meet you for lunch and figure out what to do after that."

G regarded his friend and partner curiously. "What site are you picking?"

"The _Britannia_."

G nodded. The royal yacht certainly qualified as educational - if only for its long service history before being retired - but he half-suspected Sam chose it because it was on the far side of Edinburgh and they'd take the bus rather than apparate so the kids would see a fair amount of the city as well.

"What time do you want to leave, Callen?" Nell asked.

"Nine," G answered. "Gives us time to have breakfast before we floo from Gringotts Edinburgh, and Harry's used to having to be in class by that time."

"That works." Nell yawned suddenly. "Sorry - portkeys are so fast, you wouldn't think you'd get jet lag from them."

"I don't," G offered, and Nell gave him a friendly scowl before looking at Sam.

Sam shrugged. "SEAL. I sleep whenever I can, even during a portkey."

G hid a laugh behind the last of his wine, then gave up the struggle to keep a straight face. "Sorry, partner - gotta call bullshit on that one."

Sam just smiled enigmatically.

* | *

Harry exclaimed over traveling by floo, and G smiled as Nell explained the Floo Network to him while they made their way from the Leaky Cauldron to Gringotts.

"Good morning," a rather surly goblin said. "How may we assist you today?"

"We'd like to see Griphook, please," G replied.

"It's Saturday. He's off."

"My apologies for disturbing him on his day off," G said, "but we will make it worth his while. Please tell him Callen is here with Harry Potter."

The goblin started, then stared first at Harry, then at him. "I didn't recognize you," he said. "Either of you. A moment, please."

He scurried away, and G turned to survey the lobby more out of habit than any real concern that someone might be doing something illegal, stupid, or both. He caught Nell's puzzled expression from the corner of his eye.

"Problem?" he asked.

"No," she answered. "I've just never seen a goblin be that polite to a wizard."

"Romani have a different relationship with goblins than the rest of the wizarding population." That was true, as far as it went. He'd tell her the whole story eventually, just as he'd told Sam. The habit of secrecy was too long ingrained for him to tell her now, even though they would, in effect, be raising Harry together.

Nell nodded acceptance, though the purse of her lips suggested she knew it was only a partial truth.

It was less than five minutes before Griphook returned, completely and formally dressed, even though it was a Saturday.

"My apologies for requesting your services on the weekend," G said. "But I trust it will be to our mutual benefit."

"And if not to our benefit, then to our enemies' detriment," Griphook returned. "What do you require?"

"Adding Ms. Jones and me to the Potter accounts as Harry's guardians," G answered. "A review of the account statements and then a trip to any and all vaults Harry is the owner or beneficiary of."

"Given our previous conversations, you have all the proper documentation?" Griphook asked.

"I do," G answered. "And we'll want a certification from you that everything is done - every I is dotted, every T crossed, every box checked. Just as a precaution, in case anyone tries to challenge it."

Griphook's grin was vicious enough that Harry took a step back, bumping into G as a result. G rested a steadying hand on Harry's - his ward's - shoulder. "It will be most pleasurable to assist you in this matter, Gypsy. This way, please."

An hour later, G signed the last of the required documents and healed his hand before healing Nell's and Harry's hands.

"Pretty sure I didn't give this much blood at my last physical," he observed.

"At least it's done," Nell murmured as Griphook assembled a pile of parchments and mundane paperwork.

"That it is," Griphook said. "We have issued new keys to the vaults and voided all prior keys."

"Vaults, as in more than one? I saw vault 687 when I was here before," Harry said. "There are others?"

"Two others," Griphook replied. "Vault 654 is your parents' joint account, and Vault 593 was your grandfather's vault, which passed to your father upon his death, and now to you. Your father never had the chance to combine them."

G took the statements Griphook offered and scanned them before passing them to Nell. Her indrawn breath at just the first one told him she hadn't been expecting Harry had that much money.

"I guess shopping just got a little easier," she said.

"Is it a lot?" Harry asked. "I mean, I saw stacks of coins, but I don't know …"

He trailed off, and G rested a hand on his shoulder. "Your trust vault alone has about three hundred thousand pounds in it."

"Oh." Harry sank back in his chair. "I didn't - I mean, how -?"

"Your grandfather Fleamont Potter created Sleekeazy's Hair Potion," Griphook said. "It sold very well, especially to American witches and, in a modified form, to non-magicals as well. Later, he sold the company that produced it at a significant profit."

Harry's eyes widened, and he sat forward. "It's a lot, right? I mean, I can help out my friends?"

"Right now, you can't do anything with the money," G said gently. "You're underage, so those decisions fall to Hetty and me and Nell."

"But you'll help, won't you?" Harry asked with wide, pleading eyes.

G glanced at Nell. The concern in her expression echoed his own. "We'll have to discuss it with Hetty," he said. "But I don't think she'd object if you got Hermione and Ron each something as thanks for going with you to face Quirrell."

Harry smiled. "Brilliant."

G accepted the account statements back from Nell and passed them to Griphook. At her nod, he said, "Looks like everything's in order. I don't see any reason to change how the accounts have been handled since the Potters' deaths."

"Excellent." Griphook tapped the papers and a duplicate set appeared. "These are your copies. Future statements will be sent directly to you, Ms. Lange, and Ms. Jones. Also I've provided you certified copies of all the guardianship and trust documents you might require in the event someone challenges any of it. There's also a letter from the president of Gringotts concerning our displeasure with the state of things before you took guardianship of Mr. Potter."

Thanks to years of undercover work, G kept his expression neutral, but it was a near thing. A letter from the bank president meant that the goblins were one step closer to a violent resolution of the problem than he'd thought. He could only hope no one tried to make Harry's situation worse.

"Are you ready to go to your vaults?" Griphook asked.

"Yes, thanks," G said. "Just 654 and 687, though."

"Why not all three?" Harry asked.

"Because you don't need to be tempted," Nell said.

"Because what I'm looking for isn't likely to be found in your grandparents' vault," G said at the same time.

Nell frowned. "What are you looking for?"

"Any other documents pertaining to Harry that might have been forgotten - just so we're sure we have done everything we possibly can to protect Harry and make sure his parents' wishes are followed as closely as we can."

According to the statement G had reviewed, vault 654 held almost double the amount of gold in 687, but he wasn't interested in it, despite how excited Harry was.

He turned to Griphook. "My apologies, but I need to cast a spell, both here and at vault 687."

Griphook offered him a toothy grin. "Casting spells isn't prohibited inside a vault. It's not even prohibited in the bank itself, as long as you don't draw your wand."

That wasn't a problem as Romani magic didn't require the use of a wand, but G knew better than to abuse the privilege.

" _Accio_ all documents contained in this vault."

From a shelf near the back of the vault, a small stack of parchment rose into the air and came toward him.

He caught it, then handed half the stack to Nell.

G paged through the documents he'd kept quickly. There were two deeds and a handful of potion recipes, but nothing directly pertaining to Harry.

"Anything, Nell?"

"Nothing concerning Harry," she replied.

He took the documents from her, restacked them with the ones he'd kept, and levitated them back to their place on the shelf.

Minutes later, they stood before vault 687. G gestured to Harry to open the vault, and after Harry did so, G cast the summoning charm again.

"Whoa!" Harry's exclamation was almost as startling as the foot-tall stack floating toward them.

With another wave of his hand and a murmur, G split the pile in half and sent the second half to Nell.

G's stack was much the same as the stack he'd sorted through in Harry's trust vault - deeds to property, potion recipes and spells, and -

"Oh."

Nell's soft exclamation made G look up. "What?"

"A photo album." She met G's eyes. "I think Harry can take this with him."

"Absolutely." G didn't even have to see Harry's longing expression, or how he aborted a movement toward the album. Harry's parents had died when he was young; he probably didn't have many memories of his parents. A photo album was a poor substitute, but it was better than nothing.

G returned his attention to the stack of documents he held, thumbing through them just slowly enough that he could tell what each one was. He smiled as he read the title of the last one.

"Gotcha."

He didn't realize he'd said it aloud until Nell stepped closer to look over his shoulder. "What have you got?"

G looked at Harry as he answered her. "The last wills of James and Lily Potter."

"We'll have to have them probated," Nell said.

"Does that mean you won't be my guardians anymore?" Harry's voice trembled, and tears welled in his eyes.

"Let's find out," G said. He skimmed James Potter's will for the guardianship provision. When he found it, he read it aloud.

"I am married to Lily Evans Potter, hereinafter referred to as 'my wife.' I have one child from this marriage, Henry James Potter, born July 31, 2000. Further reference to 'my child' or 'my children' shall include children later born or adopted by me and my wife. I have no deceased children. If my wife does not survive me and it is necessary to appoint a guardian for my children, I hereby appoint Frank and Alice Longbottom as guardians of my minor children. If for any reason Frank and Alice Longbottom cannot serve as guardians, I hereby appoint Harry's godparents, Sirius Black and Henrietta Lange, as guardians of my minor children."

He looked up. "I expect Lily's will says the same. Griphook, do you know who the other people are? Frank and Alice Longbottom, and Sirius Black?"

"Neville Longbottom's in my class," Harry said. "Maybe Frank and Alice are related to him?"

"His parents," Griphook said. "And they are quite unable to serve."

"Why?" G asked.

"They were tortured to insanity with the _cruciatus_ curse and are both permanent residents in the psychiatric ward at St. Mungo's."

"That's horrible," Nell said. "I hope whoever did it was punished."

"Life sentence in Azkaban," Griphook told her.

"And what about this Sirius Black - Harry's godfather?" G asked.

"Also in Azkaban," Griphook said. "For betraying the Potters' location to Voldemort."

"What?" Harry cried. "But - he was my godfather. How could he do something like that?"

Nell had Harry wrapped in her arms before G could even consider what to do. Not for the first time, he was grateful for Nell's assistance, even if she had no answer to Harry's question any more than he did.

G re-rolled James Potter's will and met Griphook's gaze. "Can you recommend a solicitor to handle the probate? I wouldn't trust Devereaux Herrington & Cooke to handle my grocery shopping."

"Do you actually buy groceries?" Nell asked.

"No." G grinned, and Nell huffed a laugh. Harry still looked like he might cry, but was trying desperately not to.

"Smith and Ford," Griphook said. "They have an excellent reputation, even amongst the goblins."

"High praise." G returned the other documents to their place. "Thank you for your assistance, Griphook."

"Always a pleasure, Gypsy," Griphook replied. "I trust you'll keep us informed?"

"Of course. Hard to have a joint rebellion when only one party shows up."

* | *

"I hate to abandon you," Callen said when he, Harry, and Nell left the bank, "but I want to talk to someone about Sirius Black."

"You should," Nell replied immediately. "I can't imagine he'd become someone's godfather only to betray that child's parents."

Harry agreed with their reasoning, even if he'd never heard of Sirius Black before this morning.

"But be honest," Nell continued. "You don't really hate not going shopping, do you?"

"I do, a little, but only because it means something bad could be going on."

Harry laughed at Callen's response, earning him a grin from his guardian and professor.

"Ri-ight." Nell looked amused. "Because a troll and a possessed teacher aren't bad?"

Callen joined Harry's laugh this time and shook his head. "They're bad, sure, but they were one-offs. Harry's inheritance has been kept from him for ten years. It's a matter of degree, not kind."

"Thanks," Harry said. "For everything."

Callen nodded, and in the next breath he'd silently disappeared.

"Okay," Nell said. "Guess that means we're ready to go shopping. We'll start in non-magical London, because that's where we're having lunch with Sam and his kids."

"That's fine. Um - can I ask you something?" Harry asked.

Nell smiled down at him as they started toward the Leaky Cauldron. "Sure."

"How - how exactly is this going to work? You and Professor Callen being my guardians?"

Nell shrugged. "Probably the same way most families work - we'll learn together, make mistakes, and keep on going."

"I can do chores," Harry said. "When I'm not at school, I mean. I cook, and clean, and garden, and - what?"

"Did you have to do all of that when you were with your aunt and uncle?"

Harry wasn't sure how to read her expression, so all he said was, "Yes."

Nell took a moment before she spoke again, and Harry thought she was choosing her words. "Of course you'll have chores - like keeping your room clean, and helping with the dishes, maybe some light yard work. Callen and I will figure that out. But you don't have to do _everything_. And when it's necessary, we'll figure out appropriate punishments that will _not_ be physical."

Harry's face heated. "You know about -"

"The abuse?" Nell nodded. "I'm sorry the Dursleys weren't decent people, but - what's so funny?"

Harry gasped for breath. "Just - they always called themselves and people like them _decent folk_."

"Well." Nell opened the door to the Leaky Cauldron. "People lie to themselves all the time. It's a bad habit."


	12. Chapter 12

The Ministry of Magic hadn't changed in the years since G had been there last, so he made his way to the office of the director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement quickly.

The chair at the receptionist's desk was empty - lunchtime, G reminded himself, or maybe a bathroom break. In either event, he wasn't in the mood to wait, so he crossed to the door to the inner office and smiled as he read the name on the door. He knocked.

"Enter," came a woman's voice, so he opened the door.

"Good to see you again, Lia."

Amelia Bones was on her feet and had her wand pointed at him in the space between breaths. G held his hands out to show he wasn't armed, and she snorted and holstered her wand.

"Like you need a wand." She came around her desk to offer him a hug. "I heard you're teaching D.A.D.A. these days. Field work not agree with you anymore?"

"It's just until Christmas."

Amelia gestured him to one of the two chairs before her desk, taking a seat in the other one. "What happens at Christmas?"

G sat. "I'll be taking Harry to live with his godmother in the States."

"Even after Quirrell and Voldemort are thrown through the Veil?"

"You think that'll happen?"

Amelia snorted, more with frustration than amusement, though plenty of both were in her expression. "I don't think there's any other outcome possible when the Minister for Magic is desperate to keep his position and his popularity."

"I can't say I think throwing either or both of them through the Veil is a bad idea," G said. "But yes, even after that. Unless you want to be the one to tell Hetty Lange her godson can't live with her."

Amelia's eyes widened. "No! No, of course not. I wouldn't ask my least favorite auror to do that." She hesitated before plowing forward. "Is that why you're here, to make the transfer easier?"

"No, but thanks for the offer. All the paperwork's in place."

"Then why -? Not that it's not good to see a friend," Amelia added quickly.

G studied her for a moment before giving a one-shoulder shrug. "I'm here to ask about Sirius Black."

Amelia's expression hardened instantly. "He betrayed James and Lily Potter to You-Know-Who and is serving a life sentence in Azkaban."

"So I've heard," G agreed drily. "Funny thing is, I've seen the Potters' wills, and he's listed as Harry's godfather and guardian in the event of James and Lily's deaths. Even funnier, their other friend, Peter Pettigrew, is not."

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing - really," G added when he saw her dubious expression. "I don't have enough information to imply anything. I can't help whatever you're inferring, though," he finished with a grin.

Amelia scowled at him for a moment before her expression relaxed. "What do you want?"

"Trial transcripts and case notes for Sirius Black's case. Maybe to talk with the investigating aurors."

"No problem." Amelia summoned her assistant, gave the proper orders, then sat back in her chair. "Would you like some tea while we wait? And you can tell me all about working for an agency that straddles the magical and muggle worlds."

* | *

Twenty minutes later, Amelia's assistant returned and spoke a few words in Amelia's ear, too quietly for G to overhear what was said. The expression on Amelia's face told him that it was nothing good.

"We can't find _any_ records pertaining to the investigation or trial of Sirius Black."

G let out a breath. "I was afraid of that."

Amelia's gaze, always sharp, honed in to a fine point. "You think he was framed."

"I don't have enough evidence to come to _any_ conclusion," G corrected. "But I do think I could get the answers to a lot of questions if I talked to him."

"I'll order the Veritaserum."

G raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty good at deception and detecting it."

"I remember. But in court, your impressions and instincts won't be worth the breath you use to describe them."

"Fine," G said. "Veritaserum, the antidote, and a dictation quill spelled for accuracy."

"Done." Once again summoning her assistant, Amelia gave the orders.

Once again settling in to wait, G said, "It won't surprise you that Susan's doing well in D.A.D.A."

"No." Amelia surprised. "It doesn't surprise me at all - though I'm still quite pleased and proud, of course. How is she overall in her class - if you can say?"

"Top five, or thereabouts," G said. "Harry has a natural aptitude for the practical side of D.A.D.A. Hermione Granger is number one in theory, top five in practical. Susan, a Ravenclaw named Terry Boot, a Slytherin named Draco Malfoy, and another Gryffindor named Neville Longbottom rotate in and out of the top five, depending on the day and the assignment."

"I'm glad she's doing so well," Amelia said. "And that there are students from all four Houses at or near the top. It's aesthetically pleasing."

G couldn't help laughing. "Aesthetically pleasing?"

"In my year, almost all of the top ten were Slytherin. I and one Gryffindor were the exceptions."

"That's one thing I'm glad the schools in the States don't have," G said. "Houses that divide students for no reason."

"Ilvermorny does."

G snorted. "Sorry. Not to be rude, but that's one school out of hundreds."

"Hundreds?" Amelia couldn't have sounded more skeptical if she'd tried.

"Hundreds," G confirmed. "Our non-magical population is about five times the size of the United Kingdom's. Our magical population is more like ten times yours, and it's spread out over an area more than thirty times the size of yours, not including Hawaii and Alaska. We don't generally use boarding schools, either. So, yes, Ilvermorny is one of hundreds of magical schools in the States and, frankly, not really known for academic excellence."

Amelia laughed. "I don't miss your bluntness, Callen. I suppose you're going to argue that the House system is why Ilvermorny has the reputation it does?"

G shrugged. "I have no idea - it's not like I study magical schools for a living. Their House system could be coincidental to their reputation."

Amelia quirked an eyebrow at him. "Doesn't Ms. Lange say there's no such thing as coincidence?"

Before G could respond, the door to Amelia's office opened again and her assistant came in with two vials, a quill, and some parchment.

Amelia checked them over before passing them to G. "Veritaserum, antidote, quill and parchment. Let me know what you find."

* | *

Getting in to see Sirius Black shouldn't have been as difficult as it was. G's ICW credentials should've been enough, as should the letter of authorization he had from Amelia Bones.

As it was, it took both of those, plus the threat of reporting Azkaban's warden to the ICW and mentioning that the goblins weren't happy with anything to do with Harry, James, or Lily Potter - to the extent that G had only to ask and the bank accounts and vaults of anyone even suspected of any wrongdoing in connection with the Potters would be frozen until such time as the matter was resolved. Even then, the warden wasn't happy about letting G in to see the prisoner.

Securing an interview room away from the dementors who guarded Azkaban's worst only took the reminder that G, as an ICW hit wizard, had been trained to see dementors as a threat and respond accordingly - with a lethal patronus.

While he waited for Black to be brought to him, G set up the recording quill and parchment, then rehearsed the points he needed to address during the interview.

Finally, a pair of guards escorted Sirius Black into the room and got him seated across from G. Dark, matted hair fell almost to Black's shoulders, and his waxy skin was stretched tight across his cheekbones. But his eyes - his eyes shone with intelligence. When the guards would've put suppression cuffs on Black, G held up a hand.

"Those won't be necessary," he said.

The guard, a stocky blonde-haired woman about his own age, looked at him dubiously. "Are you sure?"

G's gaze never left Black's. "I'm sure."

After another moment, the guard stepped back, Black's wrists conspicuously free of suppression bracelets.

G stated the date and time, confirming that the quill was recording everything he said. Then he said, "I'm G Callen, ICW agent and hit wizard. This is an interview of Sirius Black. Mr. Black, do you object to the use of a recording quill?"

"No," Black answered, his voice hoarse. "I'm just curious why anyone cares after so long. Ten years… why does anyone care?"

"For now, why not just be glad someone does?" G asked. After a long moment, Black nodded. G took a breath, let it out slowly. "I'm authorized to use veritaserum."

"Please, for the love of Magic, yes!" Black exclaimed. "I always expected to testify under the serum, but they tossed me in here and forgot me."

"I'll come back to that," G said. "For now - Guard? Please bring the prison healer or a medi-witch who can oversee the administration of the veritaserum."

The next few minutes were filled with the arrival of Healer Edward McCoy, the confirmation that it was, indeed, veritaserum and its antidote in the vials G had, and the administration of three drops of veritaserum to Sirius Black - all of which the quill recorded.

Once the healer and the guards had left, G met Black's gaze again. "State your name for the record, please."

"Sirius Black."

"Describe your relationship to James, Lily, and Harry Potter."

"James was my best friend," Black said. "I loved Lily like a sister, but she … tolerated me for the sake of my friendship with James. I am Harry's sworn godfather."

"Describe the events of the night of October 31, 2001, in your own words and to the best of your recollection."

Black drew a shaky breath. "I was at home, preparing to celebrate Samhain with my grandfather when I felt the wards on James and Lily's house fall."

That surprised G. "How did you know that it was their house?"

"Because James and I added each other to our wards," Black answered. "Best friends, as I said. And I knew _my_ wards hadn't fallen."

"What did you do?"

"I grabbed my motorcycle - a Starhawk Viper that flies even faster than it rides - and took off for James and Lily's place as fast as I could go."

"Why didn't you apparate?"

Black gave a bitter laugh. "Because I never learned how."

G could only stare at him. "By all accounts you're a very powerful wizard. Why?"

"It didn't seem important at the time. But you can bet your knickers that if I ever get out of here, I'll learn."

"Go on."

"When I got there -" Black's voice cracked. He cleared his throat and started again. "When I got there, I found that not only were the wards down, but the house itself had suffered some damage. I drew my wand and made my way inside."

"Why didn't you wait for aurors to arrive?"

Black looked at him as if he were insane. "And let James or Lily - or worse, Harry - bleed out? Like bloody hell. And Frank and Alice - Longbottom, classmates of ours - were both aurors. I knew enough from listening to them talk about their cases not to contaminate the scene."

G doubted that was actually the case, but left it alone to focus on what he really needed to know. "What did you find inside the house?"

Black cleared his throat, but even so, his voice was hoarse and raspy with suppressed emotion - grief and anger, most likely - when he spoke. "James. My best friend, my brother in all but blood, lying there - dead - on the floor at the foot of the stairs."

"What did you do then?"

"I went upstairs - the nursery. Lily's body was by Harry's crib, and I almost couldn't stand to go any closer, to maybe see the worst. But then -" Black took a deep breath, let it out on a single harsh exhale "- then I heard Harry fretting. It was the sweetest sound - I ran to the crib, and there was Harry, fretting quietly. He always was a quiet baby. There was a wound, red, very red, on his forehead. I grabbed him up. I had to get him to a healer as fast as I could."

Black fell silent, and after a moment, G asked, "Did you get him to a healer?"

"No." Black's response was almost a snarl. "When I got back downstairs, Hagrid was there."

Hagrid? As in Hogwarts' Hagrid? G had to be sure. "Hagrid? Can you be more specific?"

"Rubeus Hagrid, works at Hogwarts - or he did at the time."

Damn. G had hoped Black was wrong. That he specifically identified a Hogwarts employee implicated Dumbledore in worse than child abuse. "How did you feel when you saw him?"

"Relieved. And confused."

The second was understandable. But the first - "Why relieved?"

"Because there was someone I could trust to help me with Harry."

"Why confused?"

"How did he know to come there? At just that time?" Black scowled. "If he was at Hogwarts, how did he get there so fast?"

Black obviously had good instincts. Still, G had to know, "Did you ask him any of those questions?"

"Didn't get a chance. He said Dumbledore had sent him for Harry, that I should give Harry to him."

"Did you?"

"Without hesitation. I told him to take the motorcycle - it was fast and safe - and get Harry to a healer to have his wound examined."

Reasonable steps to take, in the circumstance. "What did you do?"

"I went after Peter."

G blinked. Doubtless someone more familiar with the story than he would know the name, but he had to ask, "Who is Peter and why did you go after him?"

"Peter Pettigrew," Black said. "He was James and Lily's Secret Keeper. I wanted to know if anything had happened to him."

G sat forward. "Just to confirm - Peter Pettigrew was the Potters' Secret Keeper?"

"Yes."

"A lot of people - pretty much everybody, in fact," G corrected himself, "believes you were the secret keeper."

Black grinned, and if that grin were more grim than maniacal, his next words explained that. "That's what we wanted them to think, so they'd come after me instead."

Another surprise in a conversation full of them. "Why did you want that?"

"I was a harder target than Peter. I wasn't an auror, but I grew up a Black. I learned to duel and fight like one before I got to Hogwarts."

"Did you find Pettigrew?"

"I tracked him to a muggle neighborhood and asked if he'd heard the news about James and Lily." Black's fists clenched on the table before him. "He had. I asked if he had any idea how Voldemort found them. He didn't answer. So I asked again. And again. And I admit I got physical with him, but I only grabbed his shirt and shook him a bit. He admitted he'd told Voldemort where James and Lily were. Claimed he had no choice, that Voldemort was just too powerful, and Peter couldn't refuse or disobey his _master_."

The last words were spat in fury, and for a moment, G almost felt sorry for the target of Black's wrath. He brought himself back to the moment quickly. "What happened then?"

"I - lost it." Black slumped in his chair, the fury that had animated him just moments before vanished somehow. "I screamed and shouted at him. I sent all the curses I knew that weren't Unforgiveable at him. Little rat bastard was fast, though - the only curse that connected at all cut off his right forefinger."

G let Black brood in silence for a long moment before prompting him again. "And then?"

"I had to dodge a couple of Unforgiveables, and while I was distracted, Peter set off a blasting curse. I tried to shield the muggles nearby, but Peter got me with a stunner, and I passed out. When I woke up, aurors were all over the place, and Peter was gone, and twelve muggles were dead."

G blew out a breath. Black was telling a wild story, but parts of it fit with things G knew from other sources. He'd have to hear it all to know for sure, though. "What happened next?"

Black shrugged. "The aurors brought me in."

"You didn't resist?"

"Why should I? Sure, I broke a law or two, but I hadn't done anything anyone else wouldn't have done in the same situation. I figured I'd be questioned within a few days at the most, and then released so that everyone could start searching for Peter." Black snorted. "Instead, I've been here for ten years, and Peter - what happened to Peter?"

"Presumed dead," G said. "That you killed him, with that finger you cut off him offered as proof."

"No," Black all but shouted. "He's not dead - at least not by my hand. He could still be out there, somewhere, still working for Voldemort, still be a threat to Harry!" Black was shouting by the end.

"If he is," G said, "he's doing a very good job of hiding. He hasn't been seen since that night."

Black laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Remember I called him a rat bastard? I meant that literally. He's an unregistered animagus."

"Whose form is a rat," G finished and blew out a breath. "Can you describe his rat form?"

"Ordinary garden rat, fat and gray. And missing a toe on his right forefoot." Black blew out a breath. "Can I ask a question now?"

"Besides that one?" G grinned, and bit back a chuckle when Black grinned in return. "Sure."

"Is Harry safe? It's been ten years - is he _safe_?"

The force behind the question made G sit back in his chair, almost as if Black had somehow struck him physically. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm his godfather, dammit!" Black all but shouted. "I failed him once, despite my best efforts. I will not fail him again."

G studied the man for a long moment before clearing his throat. "This concludes the interview of Sirius Black. Healer McCoy, will you please administer the antidote to Veritaserum?"

While the healer administered the antidote and confirmed that it had in fact been effective, G copied the record three times and applied his ICW seal to each copy, certifying them as true and accurate copies of the original.

Finally, Healer McCoy was gone, and G met Black's gaze.

"Harry is safer now than he has been. I'm Hetty Lange's magical heir."

Black's eyes narrowed, then he grinned. "Hetty's got him? Thank Magic."

"She - we've only had him a short time."

"How's that possible?"

"Through a series of events that read like a bad movie of the week," G said, and then couldn't help grinning at Black's confusion. "I'll explain after you're out of here."


	13. Chapter 13

Going shopping with Hagrid was nothing like going shopping with Nell and the Hanna family, Harry decided.

Where Hagrid had rushed him through Diagon Alley, Nell and the Hannas let him look at almost anything he wanted. Aiden and Kamran Hanna answered any questions he had, while at the same time showing him their favorite toys.

They didn't buy a lot - as Nell put it, "No sense having to schlep it all across the Pond. We'll get more when we're back home."

Still, Harry now sat in clothes that both fit him and weren't his school uniform. He'd chosen to use how Aiden Hanna dressed as a guide, so wore a T-shirt, jeans, jacket, and trainers. Two other shirts and a pair of trousers completed their purchases. As Nell said, it wasn't a lot, but it was still more than Harry had ever had new in his life, and if they weren't in a crowded restaurant, Harry would've hugged her.

Callen was waiting for them, and he grinned at Harry's new attire. "Looking good, Harry. You having to beat the girls off with a stick?"

"He's _eleven_ ," Nell said. "Girls still have cooties at that age."

"Depends on the boy," Callen said, holding Nell's chair for her. She scowled at him, but Harry could see the amusement in her eyes.

"What happened?" Harry asked as soon as they were seated.

"After I put our orders in," Sam said.

When that was done and Sam had returned to the table, Callen blew out a breath and looked straight at Harry. "The short version is, Sirius Black, your godfather, is innocent. He never had a chance to tell his story, much less a trial."

"What? How's that possible?" Nell demanded. Harry thought that about covered it, and that was a good thing because he had no words of his own, just shock.

"Lia - sorry, Amelia Bones, head of the DMLE - thinks it happened because emotions were running high that night."

"That's exactly what the law is supposed to prevent," Nell said.

" _The law_ can't do anything," Sam said. " _People_ have to follow it - or not. I take it he'll get one now?"

"Yes, but it'll mostly be for show," Callen said. "I questioned him under veritaserum with a recording quill. I gave copies of the transcript to Lia, the British Ministry of Magic, the ICW, and Hetty."

Harry didn't understand why the adults smiled at that last. "Why is that funny?"

"Not funny, so much as satisfying," Sam said.

"Hetty won't let it be swept under the rug," Nell added.

"Along those lines," Callen added, "Lia agreed to move Black to a holding cell. Too much chance that a stray Dementor might get at him before this is all fixed."

"Dementor?" Harry frowned. There was still so much about the magical world he didn't know, and he hated his ignorance.

"Soul-sucking fiends," Aiden said.

"They feed on happiness and good feelings," Nell said. "And, like Aiden said, they can literally suck out your soul and leave you in a permanent vegetative state."

Harry felt his jaw actually drop open. _I thought that only happened in stories._ "And they roam freely?"

"No," Callen said. "The British Ministry uses them as guards at Azkaban prison. They're the only government still using Dementors in any capacity."

"That's awful," Harry said, thinking that _awful_ wasn't actually bad enough to describe what he was feeling.

Thankfully, their food arrived then, and the atmosphere lightened, as if just talking about Dementors could affect their emotions.

"Can I meet him?" Harry asked. "My godfather?"

"Not yet," Callen replied. "After the trial's over, I'm sure Hetty will insist on therapy - physical and mental - before she lets him anywhere near you."

"But -"

Callen cut off Harry's protest before Harry could finish forming the words. "That's not negotiable, Harry. We've sworn to take care of you - all three of us - and letting a man who is undoubtedly damaged from his undeserved years in prison spend time with you without a clean bill of health would violate that oath."

"We keep our promises, Harry," Nell put in, "even when it's hard like this."

"It's just -" Harry stared down at the plate of fish and chips before him. "It's just I've never really had a family before."

"Harry."

Callen's tone made him look up. To his surprise, the man across from him was smiling gently. "I _get it_ , remember?"

Their conversation about family and foster homes flashed through Harry's mind, and he nodded.

"As soon as the healers finish their work, we'll arrange a visit," Callen continued. "It would be a great Christmas present for both of you -"

"That's a month away!" Harry protested.

"And it may not be long enough," Nell put in. "We're not going to rush his recovery or risk any harm to you, no matter how long it takes."

"It's not never, Harry," Callen said. "Just not yet."

That these two people, essentially strangers, cared about him more than his own blood relatives did brought tears to Harry's eyes, but he would not cry. He would not.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice rough.

"You're welcome," Callen said. Nell didn't respond verbally, just hugged him tightly from her chair next to him.

"Sounds like you had a busy day," Sam said, obviously in an attempt to once again lighten the mood.

Callen chuckled, but it was a grim sound. "That's not the half of it."

Harry waited, certain his expression was as interested as everyone else's, but Callen said nothing further. After almost a full minute, Nell huffed.

"You can't say something like that and just … leave it, Callen."

"I just did." Callen grinned at her, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. Callen held up a hand in surrender. "Okay, okay. I also arranged for new wards at the Dursleys' house."

"What?" Nell chorused with Sam. Aiden and Kamran just looked as puzzled as Harry felt.

"Apparently, Dumbledore promised them protective wards around their house," Callen said. "Wards that would fall if Harry wasn't living there."

"But I'm not living there anymore," Harry said. "Right? You said -"

"We said, and you're not," Callen assured him. "But it's not fair to punish them for what we did. I'm not saying that they're good people, or that they treated you well. I am saying that we don't want to raise a fuss, so I arranged for replacement wards."

"I don't like it, G," Sam said. "It feels like rewarding them for being abusive."

"I don't like it, either," Callen said. "But the alternative was letting them stay there, defenseless against Voldemort and his followers. Nobody deserves that."

"Well," Nell said. "Those wards may protect them from dark wizards, but they won't protect them from Child Protective Services - or whatever the equivalent is over here."

"No," Harry said, and shrank back when everyone turned to look at him. "No, please, Nell. I know - I know they're not good people. But I want to be good - and I never have to see them again. Just - leave them alone. Please?"

He didn't miss the look Nell gave Callen, nor Callen's millimetric nod. He wasn't sure how to feel about the fact that Sam still looked ready to kill.

"Okay, Harry," Nell said finally. "If that's what you want. We'll just live better lives than they do."

"They say that living well is the best revenge," Callen added.

Harry grinned. "Let's prove them right!"

* | *

Harry's first stop when he returned to Hogwarts on Sunday afternoon was the library. While most students would be enjoying their afternoon playing games, it was a good bet that Hermione's definition of fun included reading.

Not that Harry blamed her for that; he enjoyed reading, too. The biggest difference between them was that Hermione read widely on pretty much any topic that caught her interest and Harry preferred to delve more deeply into the handful of subjects he was most passionate about. Still, there was enough overlap in their interests that they were never at a loss for something to talk about.

Which made it so much harder to tell her what Harry had to tell her.

He found her curled up in a secluded corner, her favorite place when she wanted just to read or be by herself, as opposed to the table where she regularly did homework.

"Hey," he said quietly, and Hermione looked up with a smile. "Come for a walk?"

Her smile turned puzzled, but she gamely tucked her book away - the angle wasn't good enough for Harry to see the title - and shouldered her book bag.

Minutes later, they were outside the castle and heading toward the lake.

"You look very serious for someone who just came back from holiday," Hermione said.

"It wasn't a holiday," Harry said. "Not really. It was errands and shopping and … well, it was fun, in a way, but not like what Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would do. But you're my friend, and I wanted to tell you before you hear it from anyone else."

Hermione regarded him with an expression that made her look much older than she actually was. "You're leaving Hogwarts."

Harry started, but then thought he shouldn't be surprised and nodded a confirmation.

She gave a heavy sigh. "I don't understand why your new guardians are taking you out of the best magical school in Britain. It's a waste of your talent."

"There are good schools in America, too," Harry said. "And I bet they don't have trolls and possessed teachers and three-headed dogs."

"Cerberuses," Hermione corrected promptly, then frowned. "Cerberi?"

"Three-headed dogs," Harry said dryly. "And Callen thinks the education I'll get here isn't enough."

Of all the things he could've said, that was the one guaranteed to get Hermione's attention. "What? Why?"

"He said that American kids our age are in fifth or sixth grade, and in those years, we'd be learning English grammar and composition, math, science, social studies which has bits of geography, maps, politics, civics, and things like that. Also music and art."

"But when would we learn magic, Harry? That's a lot of subjects, and there are only twenty-four hours in a day."

"When are we learning any of that here, Hermione?" Harry countered. "Those are all skills we'll need, and it's being neglected here."

"English grammar and composition isn't! We write essays all the time."

"That's one out of five," Harry said. "And yes, astronomy's a science, but it's only _one_ science."

"But -" Hermione looked like she was ready to cry. "But - Hogwarts is the best magical school in Britain."

"And you and I grew up in the non-magical world," Harry said. "Don't you want to have opportunities there, too? We're magical, but that's not all we are, is it?"

"I guess not." Hermione shook herself before looking back at him and saying, "When are you leaving?"

"At the end of term."

She launched herself at him, wrapping him in a hug tighter than the one she'd given him before he went to face Quirrell.

"I'll miss you, Harry!"

Harry's arms closed around her instinctively. "I'll miss you, too." It was only the fact that he wasn't looking into her eyes that let him add, "But - I was hoping we could keep in touch."

Hermione pulled back, frowning at him. "I don't think owls can fly that far."

Harry couldn't help laughing. "Haven't you heard of a telephone?"

She blushed redder than Ron's hair. "Oh. Yes. We could only use it on term breaks - but that's better than not having any contact at all!"

"And the regular mail service," Harry added as the thought occurred to him. "I could mail your parents, and they could owl it to you."

"And I'd do the same in reverse." Hermione nodded, her decision apparently made. "I'd like to keep in touch."

"Good." Harry hoped hugging her closer again was acceptable - he'd done it without thinking. "You're my friend, and I don't have many of those."

"You'll make others, over there in America."

"Maybe," Harry allowed. "But none of them will be you."

That must've been the right thing to say, because Hermione smiled brilliantly. He'd never seen her smile like that before and was happily proud he'd been the one to make it happen.


	14. Chapter 14

G had actually enjoyed his brief foray into teaching children. He'd taught undercover skills to other federal agents before, but teaching children was both easier and more challenging than the teaching he'd done before. Maybe he'd consider teaching children when he was no longer fit for the field.

At the moment, though, he had only to turn in his end of term evaluations of the students, including their final exams, and hand over his notes on what he'd taught for his successor.

So he gathered his materials together and headed for Headmaster Dumbledore's office. It was his final task before the Christmas break began and he and Harry would apparate to London before heading to America.

Hetty had suggested, and G agreed, that traveling the non-magical way from London to Los Angeles was the best choice, just to make sure all official documents were in place in both the magical and non-magical worlds. Of course his team - specifically Eric and Nell - could take care of that as easily as they backstopped any of his undercover identities, but Hetty thought the flight would be good for Harry - a new experience for a child who'd had far too few of them so far.

If he were honest with himself, for the first time he could remember, he was looking forward to an eleven-hour flight, if only because it would be Harry's first time on an airplane, and G couldn't wait to see Harry's reaction to the experience.

G made his way to the headmaster's office, stopping to stare at the gargoyle that blocked his path. He knew from Minerva McGonagall that a password was needed to pass the sentry - a password he didn't have. A few simple probes told him he could bypass the security it offered, but he heard Hetty's voice in his mind reminding him that there was no need to make an enemy without cause.

So he simply said, "Professor Callen to see the headmaster. I have the end of term paperwork."

It wasn't exactly a password, but after maybe thirty seconds, the gargoyle stepped aside. G nodded a thanks before proceeding to Dumbledore's office.

He figured the headmaster knew he was coming, so he didn't bother to knock before opening the door and stepping inside. Before him lie a large, circular room full of curious instruments that whirred and occasionally emitted little puffs of smoke. Directly in front of him, he saw an enormous claw-footed desk, Dumbledore sitting behind it. On a shelf behind Dumbledore, a battered, patched pointed hat seemed to regard him with some curiosity.

Shoving that anthropomorphic sense aside, G addressed the man behind the desk, though his gaze kept returning to the lumpy hat. "Headmaster, I have the end of term Defense reports."

"Excellent, dear fellow," Dumbledore said. "What did you think of our students?"

"Once they got over the idea that bullying is an acceptable form of communication, most of them aren't bad. The younger students are just learning the basics, but the fifth, sixth, and seventh year students, on the whole, are all capable of joining any magical law enforcement agency they choose."

"Excellent." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. G wondered if anyone was truly fooled by the vanity charm. Then again, some people were fooled by makeup and colored contact lenses.

G put his folders on the desk before Dumbledore, his attention still mostly on the odd-looking hat on the shelf behind him. It was his last day at Hogwarts, so he allowed his curiosity free rein.

"Headmaster? The hat behind you seems … different, somehow."

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore turned in his chair so he could see both G and the hat. "That's our Sorting Hat."

G felt an eyebrow climbing. "Sorting Hat? That's not ominous."

"Oh, no, nothing like that," Dumbledore assured him. "It sorts incoming students into their proper house - Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff."

There wasn't really anything to say to that, so G merely grunted. "Hm."

"Surely American magical schools have something similar?"

"Only Ilvermorny, as far as I know," G answered. "The other schools are … open, for lack of a better word."

"How very interesting." Dumbledore finally looked up from whatever he'd been doing when G came into the room. "Where do you think you would be sorted, if we were to put the Sorting Hat on your head right now?"

"I really couldn't say," G said. "Since I have no idea what the houses actually represent."

Dumbledore smiled just a little and gestured to the hat behind him.

The hat moved, then, and appeared to move as a human's face would when that human began to speak. The voice G heard, though, could have come from anywhere.

"There's Gryffindor," the voice - the hat? - said, "where dwell the brave at heart. There's Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal. There's Ravenclaw, where those of wit and learning will always find their kind. And there's Slytherin, where cunning folks use any means to achieve their ends."

G could only blink at the recitation. After a moment, Dumbledore shifted in his seat. "Well? Where do you think you'd be sorted, based on your defining trait?"

"Anywhere but Ravenclaw," G replied without thinking.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I wouldn't say _wit and learning_ are my primary traits," G replied easily. "I'm not saying I'm stupid, just … my learning doesn't usually come from books."

"One could argue whether Ravenclaw's _wit and learning_ are supposed to come from books," Dumbledore said. "But assuming your point is valid, which of the other three would you consider most appropriate for yourself?"

It was an interesting question, and G assessed the qualities assigned to each house in turn. It was relatively easy to eliminate Slytherin - sure, G had to possess cunning strategic abilities during his undercover work, and he was very, very good at it, but that wasn't his defining trait.

Gryffindor of the brave, or Hufflepuff of the loyal… It was a difficult choice, and G knew he might choose either one, depending on the day. Today, though, it was

"Hufflepuff."

That seemed to surprise the headmaster - if his raised eyebrows and lack of twinkling eyes were any indication - and it was a long time before he spoke again.

"Hufflepuff. Well." Dumbledore finally seemed to focus on G. "What, exactly, are you loyal to, Mr. Callen?"

"A handful of ideals, a few less people."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

_Not really._ But that answer wouldn't serve him here, so G shrugged as nonchalantly as he knew how. "People - Hetty. Sam. Harry. The rest of my team. Ideals - freedom and responsibility."

"Responsibility?" Dumbledore repeated the word, making it a question.

"It's the flip side of freedom," G said. " _Duty_ might be a better word, but personally I like _responsibility_."

"Hm." Dumbledore paused thoughtfully. "And if I told you it was Harry's duty to remain in Britain?"

G didn't hesitate when he answered. "I'd ask for documentation of that duty, and a list of recriminations if he failed in it."

Dumbledore studied him for a long moment, and G couldn't help his amusement at the impression that Dumbledore found him lacking.

A lot of people had underestimated him during the course of his career. Most of those people were still serving prison sentences.

"Harry's duty is to remain in Britain," Dumbledore said again. "Because of a prophecy made a few months before he was born."

"A prophecy." G couldn't have added more doubtful sarcasm to his tone if he'd tried.

"Made to me by a proven Seer."

_Proven by what? To whom?_ G let those questions linger in the back of his mind, instead saying, "What does the prophecy say?"

Dumbledore sat forward, his eyes and expression taking on a somewhat darker cast than G was used to seeing from him. _"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...."_

G turned the words over in his mind, repeating them again, and again, and a third time, memorizing them even as he searched for their meaning, their deeper truth - if there was one.

Romani had long been associated with fortune-telling, though he'd never seen any Romani dressed like the popular image of a Gypsy fortune-teller, but any Romani would agree that prophecy was an entirely different matter. Assuming what Dumbledore had just told him was an actual prophecy, of course.

Dumbledore cut across his thoughts. "So, you see, Harry must remain in Britain."

G could only stare at him for a long moment. "That's the _non sequitur_ to end all _non sequiturs_."

Dumbledore appeared flummoxed for a moment but recovered quickly. ""The prophecy is about Harry and Voldemort."

"And you know that how?" G waved away any answer Dumbledore might have made. "Assuming for the sake of argument that you're right about that, how does it follow that Harry has to stay in Britain?"

Dumbledore blinked, and there was no sign of a twinkle anywhere in his eyes. "He has to be here to defeat Voldemort."

"Not according to the prophecy you just quoted me," G said. "It's not location-specific. It's not even time-specific, so it might not refer to Voldemort but some other, future dark lord. Britain has more than its fair share of those."

"Only two in the last century," Dumbledore said.

"And none in the States, despite having ten times your population. Makes you wonder what's wrong with Britain that it produces dark lords. Then again, we don't have _lords_ at all, so maybe that's the problem."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Be that as it may, and however fascinating that discussion might be, we seem to have wandered rather far from the point - which is that Harry Potter must remain in Britain."

G blew out a breath. The man was so confident in himself - _too_ confident by half. "When was this prophecy made?"

"July, 2001," Dumbledore answered.

G barely kept himself from laughing aloud. As it was, he said only, "And Voldemort confronted the Potters in October, 2001. Everyone agrees that Voldemort was defeated that night - some say vanquished. Why do you believe the prophecy affects Harry _now_ as opposed to then?"

"You don't know that it doesn't," Dumbledore shot back.

"Maybe," G allowed. "But the prophecy as you related it is patently false."

"No. No, it is quite true," Dumbledore said. "I witnessed it myself."

"It's false," G repeated. Before Dumbledore could protest, he continued, " _Neither can live while the other survives_ , right?"

"Yes, that is in the prophecy."

"And both Harry and Voldemort were surviving, _alive_ , until Halloween." G quirked a grin. "Maybe you heard wrong."

"Perhaps the seer used the words _survive_ and _live_ in a more poetic context," Dumbledore said. "In any event, Harry must remain here."

G had to give the man credit for being persistent - even if he was being persistently narrow-minded. "Give me a reason - a better reason than that nonsense you just quoted - and I'll consider it."

"Harry is safe here with his family," Dumbledore said. "There are wards -"

"I put up better ones."

Dumbledore paled whiter than his beard. "What have you done? Those were blood wards, designed to protect Harry and his family."

"That's the problem," G said. "Harry doesn't have a family."

"Of course he does. Petunia Dursley is his mother's sister, and -"

"And never _liked_ Harry, let alone _loved_ him as family should." G leaned forward, resting his fists on Dumbledore's desk as he got in the older wizard's face. "When I checked the wards, they felt incomplete, something was missing. When I talked to the Dursleys, I found out why. They _hate_ wizardkind in general and Harry in particular. Whatever protections those wards were meant to provide eroded over time because they treated him more like a slave than a relative."

"But they're blood relatives -"

"Family is about more than blood." G stood back, his point made. "I'm taking Harry tomorrow. I have the Queen's blessing to do so, the Dursleys' blessing for whatever that's worth, and most importantly, Harry wants to go. God help anyone who tries to stop me."

He held Dumbledore's gaze for five seconds. Ten. Twenty. At twenty-five, Dumbledore sat back in his chair. With a nod, G turned for the door.

"I hope you know what you're doing."

G had hoped to get out of the office without more of a confrontation, but the headmaster's tone - condescension and disappointment all wrapped up in a neat package with a bow made of arrogant superiority - decided him against it.

He didn't bother turning back, choosing instead to turn his head just enough that he could see Dumbledore out of the corner of his eye as he spoke.

"You have a prophecy that says either one of them could die, and rather than prepare him for that destiny, you thought the rational, logical thing to do was put him in a home where he'd be abused and completely ignorant of both magical and non-magical fighting. I have to ask, did you _want_ Voldemort to win?"

* | *

Harry woke early on the first day of the Christmas break - also known as his last day at Hogwarts. He hadn't slept well the night before, thanks to a blend of nerves and excitement at the new adventure he was starting. He might be looking forward to moving to America and staying with his godmother, but Hogwarts had been his first home, or at least the first one he remembered, and he'd miss it.

So he lay awake in bed for a few minutes, staring around the dorm room and trying to memorize every detail.

He was interrupted when Ron stirred in the bed next to his. "Morning," he said sleepily.

"Good morning," Harry said, suppressing a sigh. If Ron was awake, it was time to get up and get ready for breakfast - his last at Hogwarts.

"Hey," Ron said. "What's that?"

Harry looked where Ron was pointing and saw a package, neatly wrapped in Gryffindor colors, on the floor beside his bed.

"I don't know." He scrambled out of bed and picked it up, marveling at how light it was for a moment before unwrapping it.

Something fluid and silvery gray slithered to the floor.

Ron gasped. "If that's what I think it is, it's really rare and _really_ valuable."

"What is it?" Harry picked it up, the gleaming cloth running over his hands like water.

"It's an invisibility cloak." Ron sounded almost reverent. "Put it on and see."

Harry swung the cloak around his shoulders, and Ron let out a yell.

"It is! Look down!"

Harry looked down and saw that his body had disappeared. A glance in the mirror showed his head appeared to be floating in mid-air.

"There's a note," Ron said. "It fell when you put the cloak on."

Harry took the cloak off and folded it before picking up the note. It read, _Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well._

There was no signature, and Harry frowned, wondering if it had really belonged to his father and, if so, who his father would have trusted with such a valuable object.

Maybe Hetty would know. He'd have to ask when he got to America.

"Who'd give you something like that?" Ron asked, and it was impossible not to hear the envy in his question. At least, Harry hoped it was envy, not a suggestion that Harry didn't deserve it.

Still, Harry told him the truth. "The note says it belonged to my father, so it's a return, not a gift."

That seemed to satisfy Ron, though for the life of him Harry couldn't understand why he'd been dissatisfied in the first place. Harry folded the cloak and put it in his trunk, hesitating before he closed the lid.

"What?" Ron asked.

Harry closed the trunk and shrugged. "I can't help thinking it would've been good if my parents had it that night, you know?"

"It was You-Know-Who, Harry," Ron said. "It might not have made a difference."

"Maybe," Harry said. _But maybe it would have._


	15. Chapter 15

The Hogwarts Express combined a sense of old-world luxury with a complete lack of actual function, G thought. When so many wizards were capable of apparating, and every wizard could use the Floo Network, what was the point in having an express train that was an express only in the sense that it had no other stops?

Still, Hogwarts required students to arrive and depart by the train that bore its name, so G settled in to read while Harry and Hermione talked about Christmas and presents. Hermione was hoping for books, naturally, though she fretted that her parents wouldn't be able to get her the magical books she really wanted.

It was Harry's quiet comment, though, that caught G's attention.

"I already got one this morning, sort of," he said. "I don't expect any others."

"Really?" Hermione pounced on the statement. "What did you get? Can I see it?"

Harry laughed. "I got a cloak, and you probably can't see it."

"What? Whyever not?"

"Because it's an invisibility cloak," Harry said, and now G didn't even pretend to pay attention to the biography of Theodore Roosevelt he'd been reading.

"Brilliant!" Hermione said, and turned to G. "Did you get that for him, Mr. Callen?"

"This is the first I'm hearing about it," G replied. "Who gave it to you, Harry?"

Harry squirmed, just a little, but met his gaze defiantly. "I don't know. The note said it was my father's, and the giver was just returning it."

"I guess we've just added a stop to our trip today," G said.

"You're not going to take it away, are you?" Hermione asked.

"Of course not," G replied. "But it needs to be scanned for dark magic, or even unwelcome light magic. And it's valuable enough that it should be in a vault in Gringotts for now."

Hermione and Harry both appeared to think that over. Harry spoke first.

"That makes sense, I guess - especially checking for magic. I didn't even think of that." Then his eyes widened in alarm. "I tried it on this morning. Do I need to be checked, too?"

"It can't hurt," G said. "We can do that at Gringotts."

"And, I hate to say it, Harry, but it makes sense to put it in a vault for a while." Hermione bit at her lower lip. "I know you take care of your things, but nobody's perfect - it could be damaged, or lost, or worse."

"But - it was my dad's."

Harry's voice was so small, his expression so lost, that G set his book aside and shifted across the compartment to sit beside him and drape an arm around his shoulders.

"And it'll be yours, just in a safe place for a while longer," G said. "It'll be in your vault when the goblins transfer it, and we'll talk to Hetty and Nell about when you think you're mature enough to use it without supervision."

"We will?" Harry sounded astonished, and G smiled at him.

"Yes, Harry. _We_ will. It is your cloak, but you're still a child - a very mature child, just like Hermione, but like your broom -" and he'd had plenty of words with McGonagall about that subject "- it's not something you should be using without supervision just yet."

Harry nodded, though he still seemed dejected.

"He's right, Harry, but -" Hermione sounded thoughtful. "What if you tried it on in Gringotts and Mr. Callen took a picture? Then you'd be able to look at it - well, you know what I mean - and remember it when you don't have it with you."

"Could we?" Harry's dejection passed in the time it took him to look up at G.

"Sure." G squeezed Harry's shoulder and smiled at Hermione. "That's a great idea."

With Harry calmed down, G returned to his original seat and opened his book once more, a little surprised when Harry's owl, Hedwig, flew down from her cage, which Harry had left open, to land on the seat back. It looked for all the world like she was reading over his shoulder.

G decided there were worse ways to spend a train trip.

* | *

When the lady came by with the snack cart, Callen bought lunch for the three of them and a selection of magical sweets. Harry took his portion with a murmured thanks, then set the sweets aside for after lunch.

"Did you get any of these for your parents?" Callen asked Hermione, holding up a package of Every Flavor Beans and another of Chocolate Frogs.

"My parents are dentists," Hermione replied. "We don't have sweets that often."

"But they've never had _magical_ sweets," Harry pointed out. "They wouldn't object to trying those, would they?"

"Well, no," Hermione allowed. "Not when you put it like that."

Callen parceled out a handful of treats for Hermione, then shrank the rest and put them in his pocket.

"Some for Aiden and Kamran, right?" Harry guessed.

"And the team. You'll meet them when we get to Los Angeles," Callen added before he returned to his book.

The rest of the trip passed quickly, and soon enough Harry found himself helping Callen pull their trunks down from the overhead rack. Callen cast shrinking and feather-light charms on both Harry and Hermione's trunks, while Harry tied a note to Hedwig's leg and told her to take it to Griphook and wait for them at Gringotts.

Then he was following Callen off the train, Hermione right behind him. Once they were all on the platform, Callen guided them to a pillar near the exit to the non-magical King's Cross Station.

"Wait here," he told them. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Harry hated the tremor in his voice that betrayed the nerves he tried so hard to hide.

"Just to get a surprise," Callen said. "I'll be right back."

He disappeared through the King's Cross exit, and Hermione shifted ever-so-slightly closer to Harry.

"What do you think he's getting?" she asked.

"I have no idea," Harry replied honestly. Maybe Hetty was waiting for him on the other side. But why wouldn't she have come through to meet them here?

He'd barely finished that thought when Callen returned, one hand on a shoulder of each of the man and the woman who came with him. Harry didn't recognize either of them.

Hermione squealed - Harry winced at the sound so close to his ear. "Mum! Dad!"

Then she dashed across the platform as Harry rubbed at his ear. Two big hugs later, Hermione was dragging each of her parents by the hand … toward _him_.

"Mum, Dad, this is my best friend, Harry," she said, thankfully once they were within normal earshot. "Harry, my parents Wendell and Monica Granger."

Harry shook hands with each of them in turn. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Granger. Mrs. Granger."

"It's lovely to meet you, Harry," Mrs. Granger said, while Mr. Granger's attention was caught and held by the gleaming red and black train behind them.

"You ride _that_ to school?" Mr. Granger asked, shaking his head before either Harry or Hermione could answer. "Blimey."

"I thought you might like to see a part of Hermione's new world," Callen explained. "If I were still teaching at Hogwarts, I'd arrange to take you there."

"Wait." Hermione sounded suspicious. "How do you know my parents?"

Callen grinned. "Remember my real job?"

Harry did. "Special agent for the United States Naval Criminal Investigative Service. And a Hit Wizard for the ICW."

"Right. Finding them wasn't hard," Callen said.

"Scared us half to death when he showed up at our door one Saturday." Mrs. Granger hugged Hermione again, continuing, "Flashing his badge in a very official way. I thought something bad had happened to you."

"How many times do you want me to apologize, Monica?" Callen grinned at the woman, and his use of her first name told Harry - and Hermione, judging by her expression - that they'd spent enough time together to be friendly.

"At least one more," Mrs. Granger replied, even as Mr. Granger said, "He's apologized enough, I think."

"But - why?" Hermione demanded. Harry was dead curious about that himself and looked between the three adults for an answer.

"Because," Mr. Granger said, "he told us that you and Harry had become friends, and that Harry's leaving Hogwarts."

"Leaving England entirely," Mrs. Granger added.

"Friends are important," Callen said. "I wanted you to have a way to keep in touch."

"We're not averse to that idea," Mr. Granger said. "So the three of us talked it over."

"And?" Harry laughed a little when he and Hermione asked the question at the same time.

Callen grinned at him. "And we coordinated on Christmas presents for you. We're going to buy each of you a laptop computer so you can talk over the Internet."

Hermione squealed again, a little quieter this time, and flung herself into her father's arms. "Thank you! Oh, thank you!"

"We've discussed timing and such - Los Angeles is eight hours behind us," Mrs. Granger explained. "But we think once a week on the weekend should work."

"Obviously, that's open to negotiation," Callen said, mostly to Harry. "But for now, let's take it slow, okay?"

"Thanks, Callen," Harry said, and hoped the simple words were enough. Hermione was his first real friend, and he didn't want to lose her.

"Come on, then," Mr. Granger said. "The shops will be crowded already, this close to Christmas, but we want to get it done before Harry here has to leave."

"Let's go," Hermione cried, and tugged her father toward the exit.

* | *

By the time they finally arrived at Gatwick Airport, Harry was exhausted. Besides buying Hermione's computer - he'd get his once they were in America, but Callen wanted to make sure the model the Grangers bought had sufficient security protocols - they'd had dinner with the Grangers, visited Gringotts, where they'd found that Harry's cloak was free of any unwanted magic and put it in his vault for safekeeping, set Hedwig free to make her own way to Los Angeles, and finally taken a taxi to the airport.

Harry looked around the terminal, the rows of chairs filled with travelers in various moods. Beyond them, through giant glass windows, airplanes sat at the end of long raised tunnels of some kind. He knew he should be excited about his first plane ride, and he _was_ , but he was also worried not just about the trip but also what awaited him at the end. Not to mention what he was leaving behind.

Hermione. Ron. A school that, despite its dangers and a few rude, boorish students, he'd thought of as _home_ as soon as he set foot inside it. And … oddly … his godfather, though he hadn't met the man yet. Which reminded him…

"Callen?"

"Mm?" Callen looked up from his book, the same one he'd been reading on the train, and Harry felt his cheeks heating.

"I didn't get to meet my godfather."

He hated that his voice sounded so small, but Callen didn't appear to notice. Instead, he set his book aside and shifted so that he faced Harry as much as he could in the bolted-down seat.

"I'm sorry for that," Callen said quietly. "I checked with the healers at St. Mungo's before we left Hogwarts, and they didn't feel that he's ready to see you. He wants to see you - but he understands he needs to heal, too."

"He wants to see me?" The rest of Callen's words seemed unimportant compared to that statement.

"Very much." Callen gave him a smile and turned away long enough to withdraw a folded piece of parchment from his bag. "I gave him an address so he can write to us - magically or otherwise - and he said he'd already written to you."

Harry stared at the parchment for a long moment before reaching out a hand he only now realized was trembling. A moment later, he was reading the note.

_Dear Pronglet,_

_I hope you don't mind the familiarity, but that's how I've thought of you since you were born. We called your father's animagus form - a stag - Prongs, so it was only natural that you became Pronglet. If you'd prefer Harry or something else, just let me know._

_I can't tell you how sorry I am that I went after Peter the Rat that night. I should have been focused on what you needed right then, not what_ I _needed. I let you down, Pronglet, and I'm sorry. I hope someday you can forgive me._

_Callen says you're moving to America. I'm not happy you'll be so far away, but after he told me what happened at Hogwarts, I think you'll be safer there. He seems like a good bloke. Listen to him and Hetty, too - she's even more formidable than your mum was._

_The mind healers say I should be able to visit you next summer, if that's something you'd like, and maybe we can talk Hetty into letting you visit here again, show you where your parents liked to go. No, I don't mean a broom closet at Hogwarts!_

_Have a safe flight (you'll have to tell me all about that; I've never been on an airplane before), and write when you can._

_Padfoot_

_(Sirius Black, if you insist on formality)_

Harry read the letter again, and a third time, before he folded it and put it safely in his bag. His eyes stung, and he blinked furiously, hoping that the tears wouldn't fall.

It wasn't long before their flight was announced and Callen helped him board and stow his carry-on bag.

Harry tried to stay awake for the flight, but once the view out the window became just the ocean, it wasn't long before he fell asleep.

"Harry? We're landing." Callen's voice made its way through Harry's dream, but when he didn't respond, Callen gently shook his shoulder.

"'M awake," Harry mumbled.

"We're landing," Callen said again, his tone more forceful, though still quiet, than it had been.

Harry yawned and stretched in the seat, watching out the window as the airplane landed and taxied to the gate.

Clearing Customs and Immigration in the non-magical world was an experience Harry hoped never to repeat. The only good thing about it was that he and Callen only had one bag each.

Harry, of course, had few belongings to call his own, so only one bag - his shrunken trunk inside it - made sense. When he'd asked why Callen had only one bag, his guardian just grinned and said, "Romani blood breeds true."

Finally, after a thorough check of the documentation Callen had regarding his guardianship of Harry, the Customs agent waved them along.

Harry wasn't prepared for a handful of people holding a large sign reading, _Welcome to the USA, Harry!_

Hetty and Nell were in the front of the group, along with Sam Hanna, the Hanna kids, a dark-skinned woman who had to be Sam's wife to judge by their closeness, a dark-haired woman, and two men with blond hair. One of the blond men wore glasses, and the other's hair looked to be as unruly as Harry's own.

"Callen?" Harry asked.

"My team," Callen replied quietly. "They're the closest I have to family. I hope you'll let them be your family, too."

Harry blinked back tears, hugging Callen tightly before turning to meet his future.


End file.
